


Universal Soldier

by elaine



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to Summer of Love. Jim has left for Viet Nam and Blair's not coping too well. Fast forward four years and Blair's in for a surprise. Also, there's a serial killer loose in Cascade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Universal Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Although it's reasonably clear that all parties were consenting, there are some scenes containing very dubious sexual activity, as well as recreational drug use. Also, Blair has sex with an OFC - i know... so, not my usual thing.
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to Merlin for her beta. I've since made some changes, so any errors/typos/whatever are all my own fault.

**San Francisco - 1967**

 

Haight St was crowded, as it always seemed to be lately, but Blair couldn’t see a single friend. A lot of them had left in the last few weeks, drifting away the same way they’d drifted into San Francisco back in early Spring. Everything was changing.

He eased his way between a knot of brightly dressed, chattering youngsters – not one of them a day over sixteen, was his guess – and a couple of unimpressed locals that he knew by sight, though not by name.

He was just about to go into the convenience store he used regularly when the owner burst out, dragging a kid by the shoulder of his t-shirt. “…and if I catch you at it again, I’ll call the cops.” He gave the kid a shove towards the chattering group. “Go home, all of you.! You don’t belong here.” He turned away, growling about junkies and runaways under his breath and nearly collided with Blair, who’d zigged instead of zagging. “What’re you looking… oh, hi, Blair. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s cool, Mr Slater.” Blair followed him inside the store, heading for the bin where the day old bread was stored. He picked out a couple of hot dog buns and found an apple in the fruit bin that only had a couple of small bruises. He went over to the counter to pay. “Shoplifting again?”

Slater nodded, scowling. “If it’s not that it’s junkies hanging around begging for cash. Scares off the tourists and the locals don’t like it.” He sighed heavily, thrust out a large, meaty hand. “Coupla dimes, thanks.”

Blair handed over the coins and escaped back onto the street with his lunch. Somebody must have called the cops, because there were a couple of uniforms and a guy in a suit talking to another group of kids. As Blair watched, the detective led one of the girls off to an unmarked car.

Blair sighed. The scene was becoming a major downer and he couldn’t even pretend that he still cared about exploring alternative lifestyles anymore. Since Jim left, he was really only interested in getting stoned or drunk. It was over a month now and it still hurt even to think of him. All Naomi would say was to detach with love, something she’d picked up from some guru, or maybe a guy she was sleeping with.

There was just one problem; one that he couldn’t ignore and wouldn’t go away. In two weeks he’d have to leave, if he was still going to college in Cascade. The last thing he wanted was to live in Jim’s hometown, but there wasn’t time to apply to another college – Berkeley might be cool, but it was no use thinking about that. He’d even considered not going to college at all, but then he’d have to take his chance on the draft, and he hadn’t lost all sense of self preservation, just most of it. Maybe he _should_ go – to Mexico, not Canada, it was too cold for him up there. Trouble was, he might never be able to come back. Although even that thought didn’t bother him as much as it had a month ago.

With an apathetic shrug of his shoulder, he turned away from Haight and headed along Clayton towards the Panhandle. He’d have no problem picking up some dope there, and maybe something stronger. He hadn’t tried anything else yet, but maybe he should.

“Blair! Hey, man, where have you been lately?” A hand landed heavily on his shoulder, and Blair turned to see a thatch of grubby blond hair and an enormous grin. “Watcha been doing, man?”

“Oh, hey, Mike.” Blair smiled, shrugged his shoulders. “Just hanging, you know?”

“Oh yeah?” Mike’s eyes narrowed. “Hanging, huh? Who with?” He punched Blair’s arm playfully. “You’ve been getting laid. I can tell. She got a friend?”

Blair shook his head. “He’s gone, anyway.”

Mike whistled, his eyes widening. “You’ve been fucking a guy? Man, you’re really getting experimental. So… does that mean you’re queer now? ‘Cause I know some girls… they’re gonna be at a party later. But maybe there’ll be some queers there too.”

“I don’t care, really. Guys, girls… whatever, man.” Maybe this was the way to get Jim out of his system. “So, where is this party?”

***

The house was one Blair knew well; a bit run down, each floor was a single, huge apartment, but it looked like the party was happening all over. He found Mike on the second floor, lying on a mattress in a tangle of limbs with two girls, one blonde, one brunette; all three of them were topless. Mike grinned dazedly up at him. “Hey, man. Join the party – this is Jenny, and this is Serena. I’ve been telling them all about you.”

Blair dragged his eyes away from the blonde’s breasts. He couldn’t tell from Mike’s introduction which girl was which, but at least it seemed like he hadn’t lost interest in girls after all. “I think I’ll look around for a while. See you later, okay?”

“Sure…” Mike’s attention wandered back to the two girls and Blair glanced around the room. Some people were lying around in groups or pairs making out, others drinking or smoking. One guy was strumming a guitar along with the sitar music coming from the tape deck. It was like pretty much every party he’d been to this summer. He went up to the next floor and then onto the roof.

He joined a group who were sharing a water pipe, just because he’d never used one before and it looked pretty cool. The sun was warm and a lot of the guys, and the girls too, had stripped down to their underwear. A few were completely naked. Nobody took much notice and Blair, not quite as laid back as he pretended to be, tried not to notice either.

The girl next to him handed him a jug full of grape Kool Aid and he hesitated, pretty sure that it would be laced with something. “What’s in it?”

She smiled sweetly. “It’s acid. Have you tried it? It’ll really blow your mind.”

She was one of the few wearing a top, but it was just thin muslin and Blair could see dark nipples peaking under the cloth. He tried not to stare, but of course she noticed. Her smile deepened.

Blair felt a soft, luscious heat start in his belly. She was interested, he thought. In him. “No… uh, I mean, I’ve never tried it.” Naomi had. She’d told him about it. He took a sip. Then a small gulp and passed it on. “I’m Blair.”

“Hi, Blair.” She touched his cheek. “You have beautiful hair. I’m Ivy.”

“And I’m pleased to meet you.” Blair grinned, trying to exude confidence. He’d never got very far with girls. They always thought he was too young. And she was really pretty, with straight black hair and grey eyes. She even had a little leaf design on her cheekbone. Ivy, he supposed, like her name. “Is that a tattoo? It’s so cool.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, it’s just painted. I might get it tattooed one day.”

“So, have you been here long? In San Fran? I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I met you.”

“Just a few weeks.” Ivy’s fingers tangled in his hair, she was leaning closer to him. “I came with my boyfriend.”

Dammit! “Oh. Uh, sorry, I thought…”

Ivy laughed. “It’s okay. We’re not exclusive or anything. He’s over there.” She pointed to where a brown haired guy was kissing a blonde girl and stroking her breast. “She’s pretty, don’t you think?”

“Not as pretty as you.” It was the obvious answer, but true all the same. “He’s kinda hot too.”

“You like guys?”

There was a glint of interest in the grey eyes. Wow, she _liked_ that, Blair thought. The jug had come back the way he’d passed it and he took a big gulp this time before holding it out to Ivy.

“Yeah, but I just broke up with someone, and…”

Ivy looked sympathetic. “You don’t want to be with another guy just yet?”

Blair shook his head, swallowing a lump in his throat. He was starting to get hot and he pulled his t-shirt off over his head, shaking out his hair again. “I guess I’d rather be with girls right now.” He even managed to say it like he had a choice.

“I’m really glad to hear that, Blair.” She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips.

“Mmn.” Blair opened his mouth for her, savouring the sweetness of the Kool Aid and the slightly metallic taste that he thought might be the acid. Or maybe it was the dope; he didn’t really care.

They toppled sideways onto the cushions and pillows that were lying around everywhere and Blair slid his hand under Ivy’s muslin top, stroking the smooth, warm skin. Ivy twisted, hips undulating, her thigh pressing against his. She made quiet, appreciative sounds against his mouth while her hands brushed over his chest so lightly he could barely feel her touch.

“God… please…” he whispered, arching up against her hand. She drew back, smiling down at him and then sat up so she could take off her top. Fuck, she was beautiful. He reached up, cupping her breasts in his hands and moaning when her nipples hardened in his palms. There was another leaf design on the upper part of her breast, coiling up her neck to join with the one on her cheekbone. “So cool.”

She laughed, soft and throaty… god, so sexy…as she eased back down, rubbing herself against him, breasts lushly warm on his chest. His dick was aching and he pulled her hips closer, tighter. Their lips met again and he pushed his tongue into her mouth.

Someone was singing, or chanting. The sound intruded for a moment, distracting Blair with the reminder that there were people all around them. But nobody cared what they were doing. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Freedom to do whatever they wanted, to explore different lifestyles. Drugs, sex. Everything was there to be tried.

He turned his head and saw Ivy’s boyfriend watching them over the shoulder of the girl he was kissing. Their eyes met and Blair felt a sharp thrill of arousal. He was getting off on watching them, and Blair was getting off on being watched. He suspected Ivy was too.

She moved away again, kneeling over him and Blair pushed up on his elbow, nuzzling her breasts, briefly sucking a nipple while her fingers dealt expertly with his jeans. As each button slipped free, Blair got harder, hungrier for her. He fumbled with the tie of her loose pants until they slipped down. Beneath she had only a tiny pair of panties, incongruously scattered with pink rosebuds.

Blair couldn’t help looking again at Ivy’s boyfriend. He was blatantly watching now, not even kissing the girl, who was looking pissed. He said something – Blair saw his lips move – pushed her head down towards his groin. What an asshole. But their eyes met, and Blair couldn’t drag his gaze away.

Finally, Ivy laid down over him again, the heat of her body so much stronger now his jeans were somewhere down around his knees. Her hair fanned out across his chest, like silk, except for the long strands of ivy that twisted through it. He hadn’t noticed that before.

Her mouth was on his again, and he twined his fingers through her hair, drawing her close. The ivy tangled around his hands, no longer quite so cool; it was getting in the way now, curling around his arms and even his face as she moved over him.

“Ivy…” he was drifting, the drugs making him drowsy. The acid was a wash, no different from dope, really. “Ivy…”

“What do you want, Blair?” Her voice was low, sensual. She took his hand and guided it between her legs, pressing his fingers against the damp cloth of her panties. “Do you want this?”

What he wanted was the damned ivy to go away, but he couldn’t find the words to say so. Her hair brushed his cheek, the ivy with it, harsher, scratchy. He turned his head away but she followed, laughing. She just didn’t get it and he couldn’t figure out how to tell her.

He felt a wet slither of tongue against his cheek, his earlobe, and then the rough probing of the vine, the tickle of the leaves. He opened his mouth and a tip somehow slipped inside. “Fuck! Get it off. Get it off me!”

“Blair?” Her slender weight was gone, but the ivy had him fast now, streaming out of her hair, down her arms and over him, tangling around him, invading his mouth as he screamed. “Blair, it’s okay. Just go with it, don’t fight it.”

He stared up at her, on the verge of panic. Not fight it? How could he not fight it? He tried to pull his arms free, his body convulsing with the effort, but the vines were all over him, clamping his arms to his side, filling his mouth. The last thing he saw, before the tendrils infiltrated his eyes, was her frightened face; the last thing he heard was her voice calling for help.

***

There was something familiar, something comforting about the whisper of song. He could barely hear it, but he wanted more, and so Blair reached, following the gentle rhythm of words he couldn’t distinguish. “Mom?”

“Blair. Oh, sweetie, are you all right?”

“Uh…” he swallowed, grimacing at the foul taste in his mouth. His head hurt, his throat hurt, and his body ached. All right? Not even close. “I… what happened?” He forced his eyes open and instantly regretted it.

There was a whispered exchange and something cool and damp moved over his face. For some reason that made his stomach revolt and he moaned as his body started to heave. It was disgusting, and quite painful, and when it was over he sank down feeling even worse than before. “Mom?”

“I’m here, darling.” Naomi’s hand slipped into his, and her fingers stroked his cheek. He’d know her touch anywhere. “Oh, Blair… what are you doing to yourself? If I thought you were really trying to expand your mind, I’d accept it, but you’re not. What’s wrong, Blair? You know you can tell me anything.”

“I just… I miss him so much.” He hiccuped, his head pounding. “Oh, Mom…” To his extreme later embarrassment, Blair began to sob.

“Oh, sweetie…” Naomi lay down beside him, cradling him in her arms. He hadn’t been held like this in years, but it brought memories of childhood comfort that helped, at least a little. “I’m sure it feels like nothing matters any more, but you still have your life to live.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. But if I don’t go to college…”

“Blair Sandburg, you’ve wanted to go to college since you were eight years old! You are _not_ going to throw away all you’ve done to reach that goal.” He opened his eyes to see the determined look on his mother’s face. That look always meant she was going to get her way. “Do you really think _that_ is the way to honour the relationship you had with Jim? I’m sure he wouldn’t want it.”

“No… but-“

“So you’re going to college.” It wasn’t a question. Naomi released him and sat up. “I think you should go as soon as possible.” Her eyes brightened. “And I’ll come with you, at least part of the way.” She shook her head, overriding his half-hearted attempt to argue. “There’s a commune at Big Sur I want to visit. You can stay for a couple of days too.”

Getting away from San Francisco might be a good idea, he supposed. “Well…”

“It’ll be perfect, Blair. We’ve been talking – my encounter group – about it being time to move out into the world, to change things everywhere.” She looked down at him with that determined look he knew so well. There was no point in arguing now, even if Blair had the energy. “So that’s what we’ll do.”

 

*** 

**Cascade – 1971**

 

Blair grinned as he trotted up the steps to the shelter. He loved this place; it was like a second home, in spite of the grim situation of the men for whom it was their only home. Six weeks was the longest he’d ever been away, and it was good to be back again. He exchanged greetings with a couple of guys he knew, and a wary nod with a new face. This wasn’t the kind of place where it was safe, or kind, to assume instant friendship. Too many of the men were Vets, scarred from their experiences and understandably unwilling to trust easily.

Inside, he headed for the kitchen. It would be lunchtime soon, so that would be where he’d be needed most. Greg was there too, and his face broke into a huge smile when he saw Blair.

“Hey, Blair!” He came over and almost lifted Blair off his feet with a huge bear hug. Just about everything about Greg was huge, including his personality. And his compassion. “How was the field trip?”

“Expedition,” Blair corrected, not for the first time. ‘Field trip’ sounded too much like grade school. Expeditions were serious business. “It was great. I think the students really got a lot out of it – living off the land, learning folklore and traditional skills.” He followed Greg into the kitchen, still talking, and accepted a potato peeler from one volunteer and a bowl of potatoes from another. “And now I’m all yours until the end of next week. Then I have to grade their reports.” He sighed dramatically, but he was still too new to being a Teaching Fellow to feel more than a little blasé about grading.

Greg chuckled. “Then we’d best make the most of it. Alan, check the biscuits, will you? I think I can smell scorching.”

The kitchen, like always at this time of day, was a scene of barely controlled chaos as volunteers and some of the shelter’s regulars trimmed green beans, peeled potatoes and mixed up about a gallon of gravy for the meatloaf that Blair’s nose told him was cooking in the oven. He found a stool in the corner to perch on, set the bowl on his lap, and started to peel the potatoes.

By the time he’d finished the second bowl, Blair had just about caught up with everything that had been happening in his absence. New people had arrived, driven inside by a patch of unusually cold weather, but some had left as well. A few of the guys had decided to move south, in the hope of work, or just better weather. Some had simply stopped coming in, and whether they’d moved on, or ended up in jail or hospital, or worse, they might never know.

“Blair, if you’ve got a minute, I want to talk to you.” Greg loomed out of the mass of bodies, just as Blair dropped the last peeled potato into the bowl.

“Sure.” He hopped down off the stool and passed the bowl to another volunteer. “What’s it about?”

Greg led him out into the big room that was lounge and dining area combined. Right now the tables were being cleared in preparation for the meal. “Well, I’ve had this idea about fundraising…”

It was a constant worry for all of them. The shelter’s financial position was never less than precarious, running mainly on Greg’s ability to charm, or guilt, money out of pretty much everyone he met. Winter was a particularly difficult time, with all the heating costs adding to an always-strained budget.

They’d almost reached the door of Greg’s office when Blair turned back. Something had caught his attention, though he wasn’t sure what. Just… something nagged at him to turn around, to really look. He scanned the room, feeling like an idiot for not being able to pin down what was bothering him. Gradually, his eyes zeroed in on a figure moving between the tables, clearing old books and magazines away. The hands… there was something vaguely familiar about the hands. He followed the line of the guy’s arm up to a sloping shoulder and pale neck. The scroll of an ear, the shape of skull under closely cropped hair, it all seemed…

“Oh, my god…” he barely whispered the words. Surely it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be… “Jim? My god, Jim!” He was moving, ignoring the wary looks, Greg’s voice calling to him, stopping only when he reached Jim’s side. “Jim, it’s really you!”

A blank stare stopped him cold as he spread his arms wide. “It’s me. Blair. Come on, man, I haven’t changed that much.” He grinned, expecting any moment to see recognition in Jim’s eyes, but there was none.

“Sorry. I don’t know any Blair.” It was Jim’s voice, but cold and abrupt, unlike anything Blair had ever heard from him. He turned away, continuing with his task.

“Jim, come on.” A hand touched his arm. Greg. Blair ignored him, catching hold of Jim’s sleeve. “San Francisco. You’ve gotta remember San Francisco. Just before you shipped out.”

“Let go of me.” The voice was quietly dangerous. “Unless you want your arm broken.”

Blair took a step back, stunned and hurting, and Greg grabbed him by the arm and almost dragged him into his office. “What the hell were you thinking? You know better than…”

Blair looked up, trying to school his face into some semblance of calm. Apparently, he’d failed.

“…Jesus, Blair, are you okay?” Greg’s voice gentled, his face creased in concern.

Blair shook his head. “Not really.” He stumbled to a chair and sat down. His hands were shaking. Hell, his whole body was shaking in reaction.

Instead of sitting behind his desk, Greg pulled over another chair and sat beside Blair, laying his arm across Blair’s shoulder. The weight of it was strangely comforting. Blair leaned into his side, instinctively seeking the warmth of another body. He’d never felt so cold in his life.

“You want to tell me about it?” Greg patted his shoulder gently.

God… how could he even begin to explain what Jim meant to him? He shrugged helplessly. “I met him in San Francisco. He’d gone through college in ROTC and he was shipping out in two weeks. He didn’t tell me at first.” He’d been so young then. Jim had too. He was about the same age now that Jim had been then, but he felt so much older than either of those two boys. “I loved him, and he… he said he loved me. I tried to convince him not to go. Said I’d go with him – Mexico, Canada, anywhere.”

There was a slight pause before Greg said calmly. “And this guy reminds you of him.”

“No.” He pulled free of Greg’s arm and half turned to face him. Greg _had_ to believe him. “That _is_ Jim out there. I don’t know why he’s pretending not to know me, but-”

“Blair.” Greg’s voice was unusually stern. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now. Maybe you’re right-”

“I _am_ right! That is _Jim_ out there-”

Greg caught hold of his arms, just below his shoulders. With those meaty fists holding him, Blair could hardly move the upper half of his body. “I don’t _care_. Blair, those guys out there are my responsibility. You know better than anyone how damaged some of them are. If that guy is _your_ Jim, then don’t you think he’s got a good reason for not wanting to acknowledge it? Or maybe he simply doesn’t remember. Who knows what trauma he’s been through?”

Blair squirmed; he couldn’t escape but he wasn’t ready to submit. “But I can’t just-”

“You can, and you will.” Finally, Greg released him. “Take a few days. Decide if you can allow Jim to recover in his own time or whether your own selfish needs are more important to you.”

That stung, all the more because Blair suspected that he deserved it. “All right. I’m sorry, man. I’ll…” he gestured vaguely towards the door. “I just don’t know if I can be so close and pretend like there’s nothing between us.”

“Well, I hope you can.” Greg leaned back in his chair, setting a little space between them. “You know how good you are with these guys. I’d hate to lose you.”

Blair nodded, acknowledging the ultimatum. “I’ll think about it. Let you know if I’m coming back.”

***

The problem was, Greg was right. It took the best part of an hour trudging aimlessly through the streets around the shelter before Blair was ready to admit to himself that he’d been totally out of line. Whether that guy was Jim or not – and he _was_ Jim, Blair couldn’t accept any other possibility – was irrelevant; you just didn’t go pushing yourself onto these guys, especially when you had no idea how they’d react. What he’d done was unconscionable and he was damned lucky he hadn’t started a meltdown, not just of Jim – any of a dozen guys who’d been in the dining room could have been set off by a scene like that.

The thought stopped Blair in his tracks and he leaned against the wall as his gut twisted. Greg had been kinder than he deserved. He let it all wash over him, breathing fast as adrenaline flooded his system. When it receded, a few minutes later, Blair shook his head sharply and noticed for the first time that it was raining. Not hard, more of a thick fine drizzle that had already made his clothes heavy and distinctly damp. And he still had a good ten minutes walk to get home.

“Oh, great.” Weary, now that the rush had faded, he began walking.

Home, when he reached it, had never looked less welcoming. Not for the first time, Blair wondered why he’d thought it such a great idea to rent half of a warehouse. Sure the rental was low for such a large space, but did he really need ten thousand square feet of warehouse that was chilly and dank in winter, and infested with enormous rats? He only used about ten percent of the space; the rest was just a mass of shadows.

“Home sweet home,” he muttered, unlocking the door. “God, I hope the water’s hot.”

A shower was clearly the next order of business, but instead of going straight to the rudimentary bathroom, Blair detoured to the couch, throwing himself down into the corner and pulling his knees up to his chest. All the doubts he’d repressed on the walk home surged up again.

Was it Jim he’d seen? He forced himself to think about it calmly, logically. The height was about right, and the colouring. He’d been bigger; the Jim Blair had known had been what? Twenty-one, twenty-two? Still a little gangly, anyway. This guy was broader, more built – but those eyes… Blair shivered a little, remembering how it had felt waking up to see Jim watching him with those eyes. He couldn’t be wrong; _couldn’t_ be.

“Oh god, oh fuck…” He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until they ached. Then he forced himself off the couch and walked, shivering, to the bathroom to start the shower running.

***

In the end, it came down to one simple conclusion; there was no way Blair could stay away from the shelter. Greg needed all the help he could get, sure, but that wasn’t the reason. It was, pure and simple, that if there was even the slightest chance that Jim was there, then Blair had to be there too.

That decision was the easy part.

Greg wasn’t going to allow him back into the shelter unless Blair could convince him he’d behave, treat Jim like all the other guys, and not fly off the handle. It took two days of agonising self-examination and hours of meditation for Blair to reach the place where he thought he had even a snowball in hell’s chance of pulling it off.

He’d do it. He’d do it because he had to.

All the same, as he walked down Mason towards the shelter, Blair was scared as hell. He rounded the corner onto 53rd and stopped, his heart in his mouth.

Jim was leaning against the wall between two empty storefronts. He straightened as Blair walked slowly towards him. “Hi.”

“Uh… hi…” Blair shoved his hands into his pockets to hide the shaking. “Hey, I’m glad… I wanted to say I’m sor-”

“No. I’m sorry.” Jim’s eyes never met his, glancing off over his shoulder. “I wasn’t ready… I didn’t expect…”

 _Oh my god… oh my fucking god…_ Blair swallowed hard, his heart pounding. “It’s all right. I’m just glad that you’re-”

“Okay?” Jim laughed harshly. “I think it’s pretty obvious-”

“Alive.” Blair swallowed again. He couldn’t believe it. He’d been so sure it was Jim and yet he still couldn’t believe it. “I’m so glad you’re alive. And home. And safe.”

Jim shrugged, his eyes lowered. This wasn’t exactly the reunion Blair had imagined all those years ago. God, four years – it seemed like a lifetime.

“Look, Jim… if you want me to stay away…” His voice cracked a little. “If me being there makes you uncomfortable…”

“It doesn’t.” The words, muttered hastily, were less than convincing.

“Well… good.” Blair smiled tentatively. He’d give Jim plenty of space. It was enough, for now, to know that Jim really was alive. “Are you going to the shelter now?”

“No, I was just leaving, but I heard…” Jim hesitated, frowning. “Well, anyway, I’m going home.”

So he wasn’t living at the shelter. That was a good thing. Probably. “Oh yeah, your family’s from around here, isn’t it?”

Jim nodded reluctantly. “Yeah.”

“That’s great! Bet your old man-”

“I’ve gotta go.” Jim brushed past him, walking fast towards the end of the street. He turned the corner without looking back.

***

“Blair, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Greg patted him gently on the shoulder. “Let’s go into my office.”

He followed Greg, feeling strangely numb. “I feel like I’ve seen one.”

Greg’s shrewd eyes appraised him. “So you’ve seen Jim?”

“Yeah. He said he was sor-” Blair glared at him. “You knew? You knew all along and you let me believe-”

“Hold on, Blair.” Greg leaned forward, a frown appearing on his usually amiable face. “I never misled you. I had no idea that Jim was the person you knew. He told me afterwards.”

“Oh.” Blair slumped in his chair. “I’m sorry. I’m just… these last two days haven’t been easy.” He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to calm himself.

Greg was silent, waiting patiently, until Blair finally took a deep breath and said, “I want to come back. And I promise I’ll leave Jim in peace. It’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t…” His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. “I won’t do anything to upset him or anyone else.”

“Good.” Greg smiled, his eyes softening sympathetically. “Just… take care of yourself too. If you want to talk, you know I’ll be here for you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Blair managed a smile. “Thanks, man. And thanks for…I mean, I really appreciate you not freaking out…”

Greg shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I was surprised. I had no idea you were… what are they calling it these days?”

“You mean, gay?. Well, I’m not, really. I mean, I’ve mostly been with girls the last couple of years.” At least with girls, he hadn’t been unconsciously comparing them with Jim. It was just easier. Less painful.

“It doesn’t matter.” Greg patted his shoulder. “You know I’m your friend, right?”

“Yeah.” Blair smiled weakly. “I know.”

***

As it turned out, Blair didn’t have too much trouble keeping to his promise over the next couple of days. Jim seemed to have an uncanny instinct for when Blair was about to arrive, and all Blair saw of him was his tall figure retreating into the distance.

It was better than nothing, Blair told himself firmly and tried to believe it. It was better than Jim being dead. That, at least, he could tell himself with some conviction.

He made it to the end of the week with a sense of relief. Surely, it would get easier. And maybe Jim… but, no. Better not to think like that.

He spent the weekend catching up with friends and deliberately not thinking about Jim or the shelter. He just had to get through next week, and then term would start and he’d be back to two afternoons a week and Saturday mornings. He probably wouldn’t see Jim at all then.

He arrived at the shelter Monday morning, ready to join the kitchen crew in preparing lunch, but as soon as he entered, he could sense the tension. The men were gathered in little groups, and the murmur of their conversation had an edge of disquiet. A couple of the counsellors were amongst the men, their faces grim. Jim was there, too, talking to Cap, but he hardly spared a glance for Blair. Progress, perhaps, but Blair was more concerned about whatever had caused the change in the atmosphere.

In the kitchen the usually cheerful banter was replaced by uneasy silence. Blair grabbed a potato peeler and a bowl and sat down at the table beside another volunteer. “Hey, Chrissie, what’s going on?”

Her usually cheerful smile was subdued. “The police have been.”

“Oh.” It happened from time to time, and the guys in the shelter didn’t much like it. At best, there was a kind of armed neutrality between the police and the homeless. Still, a police visit didn’t usually cause this level of unrest. “What was it? Somebody’s house get burgled? A mugging?” They were always first in line as suspects for those.

Chrissie shook her head, her eyes filling. “They found a body. They think he might be one of ours… there were… dog tags.”

Blair’s heart sank. It wouldn’t be the first time, but it never got any easier. Chrissie always took it hard – she’d lost her husband in ‘Nam and it brought back the grief that she’d never entirely recovered from. “They don’t know who?”

“Greg didn’t say. He’s gone to identify the body.” She sniffed and smiled bravely. “Is it awful of me to hope it’s not one of ours?”

“Of course it isn’t.” He hugged her with one arm and kissed her cheek. She was old enough to be his mother but she still blushed a little. “How about a mug of tea?”

He made enough for everyone, passing the mugs around and trying to find out if anyone had more information, but nobody knew any more than Chrissie.

They’d started serving lunch by the time Greg returned, accompanied by two detectives – one, a middle-aged white guy, the other, unusually for this part of the country, a younger black guy, tall and solidly built. Snappy dresser too, Blair noticed, unlike his older colleague. They went into Greg’s office.

Blair dropped a large spoonful of mash onto a plate, poured some gravy over and looked up to see Jim next in line. “Hi.”

Jim nodded, guardedly. “Hi.”

Belatedly, he remembered to serve the mash. “Gravy with that?”

“Uh, yeah.” Jim hesitated a moment. “Do you know…”?

“I haven’t heard anything.” He met Jim’s eyes. It was the first time they’d spoken since last week. “Greg will tell us what he can.”

Jim looked down at his plate; a muscle twitched in his jaw. “Thanks”

“Any time.” As Jim moved away Blair forced himself to smile at the next guy in line. “Hey, Cap. Want gravy with your mash?”

***

Nobody seriously expected the cops to do anything about the death of a homeless vet, but two days later one of the detectives, the black guy, was back again. He disappeared into Greg’s office and a few minutes later Greg came to the door and signalled Blair to come over.

The detective rose as Blair came in, and nodded a greeting. “Mr Sandburg, I’m Detective Banks, Homicide. I’m hoping you can help.” His voice was deep and slightly nasal. Close up, he was not only large but extremely tall, towering over Blair by nearly a foot.

“Me?” Blair glanced at Greg, who shrugged and closed the door, leaving him alone with Banks. “Sure. Anything I can do.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded less than convincing. He’d had plenty of experiences that led him to have a less than favourable impression of the cops.

Banks’ expression showed he’d heard and understood. “Please. Sit down.” He lowered himself into one of the small folding chairs that Greg had scattered around the office.

“Okay.” Blair sat. “What do you want?”

“Mr Sandburg, I’m trying to help here. There’s been two murders, and-”

“Two? Another one?” Blair’s heart sank. “Who was it?”

“Sorry.” Banks shook his head. “Not another one – this was an earlier murder we now think was related to your guy… uh…”

“Tank?” It was the only name anyone knew for him.

Banks nodded. “Yeah. Tank. We still haven’t positively identified him. Or the other victim.”

“So what makes you think they’re related? And why should I be able to help? I’ve been out of town for most of the last two months. I only know what Greg told us.”

“There were certain similarities,” Banks waved his hand vaguely. “We’re still working on confirming the IDs on the dog tags, but the military’s taking its own sweet time. The other victim was also a homeless vet, from the Millerton St shelter. Went missing four weeks ago, the best we can tell. His body was found nearly a week later. He was known as Josh, but the name on the dog tags was Frederick Wentz.”

Nobody he knew, thank god. Immediately, he felt guilty for thinking that way. “Like I said-”

“I know. Mr Dawson told me you were out of town.” Banks eyed Blair impatiently. “Where, exactly?”

“Arizona.” Blair said, irritated. “And I have twenty-five witnesses who can vouch for that.”

“Good.” Banks smiled. It reminded Blair more of a shark’s grin than an expression of friendliness. He leaned back in his chair, his shoulders relaxing a little. “Then that makes you the only person involved in this case that I can definitively rule out as a suspect.”

Blair snorted. “If that’s your methodology, it’s gonna take you a long time to close this case.” Most likely, he’d just give up after a few days with no progress. The only surprise was that he’d taken this much interest in the murder of two homeless guys.

Banks visibly repressed a sigh. “I’m hoping you can help. Keep an ear out for anything that might be relevant.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.” He would have anyway, for all the good it was likely to do. A thought occurred to him, unwelcome. Blair swallowed, his throat tight. “You think there’s going to be more killings?”

“I’m afraid so.” It seemed like Banks had come to some kind of decision about him. When he spoke again his tone was more confidential than before. “I think we have a serial killer here. If so, he’s probably looking for another victim right now.”

***

The next day Greg intercepted Blair as he headed for the dining room. Having caught a glimpse of Jim, Blair followed reluctantly as Greg headed for his office. “What is it, Greg? I was kinda hoping-”

Banks was inside. He stood, politely, as they entered. “Mr Sandburg.”

“Hi,” Blair said, rather snarkily. “Nothing to report, yet.”

 “Can you identify this guy?” Banks held out a photo.

Blair looked at the young face. Nobody he knew, but it reminded him that someone’s brother, son, maybe even father, was dead. “No, I don’t recognise him.”

“How about this one?” The second likeness was a sketch, but the face was no more familiar to him than the first. Neither of them was remotely like Tank.

Blair shook his head. “I thought you said there was only one other victim?”

“That’s what I thought.” Banks laid the two images on Greg’s desk. “This guy” he pointed to the sketch, “is the first victim. Josh. This guy…” he pointed to the photo, “Frederick Wentz. The dog tags on our first victim belonged to him.”

Blair glanced at Greg but got only a small shake of the head. So Greg hadn’t recognised them either. “What about the people at the Millerton St shelter?”

“They ID’ed the sketch. Nobody recognised the photo.” Bank pinched the bridge of his nose, and the nasal tone deepened. “He could be another victim. Hell, he could be the perpetrator.”

“But if the Army…” his voice trailed off uncertainly. Even though they had a name, the guy could be homeless, or hiding out. Either way, he could be living under another identity. “Did they release his records?”

Banks shook his head. “We don’t know that he’s a victim, and we have nothing to suggest he’s a suspect. They won’t release any more information until we can provide some kind of evidence for one or the other.”

Typical, Blair thought. He met Greg’s eyes. “You’ve got friends in the VA. Can you do anything?”

“I’m trying.” Greg shrugged. “You know how it is.”

“I’m still waiting on the records for Tank’s dog tags.” Banks gathered up the papers and slid them into a manila folder. “I’ll let you know if there’s anything more. Maybe you could see if anyone knows Wentz. Just keep it discreet, okay?” He held out a card to Blair. “Call me. Anytime.”

“Sure.” Blair looked at the scrap of cheap pasteboard. There was just a name, Detective Simon Banks, and a phone number. “See you later, Simon.”

A grunt indicated Banks’ opinion of his familiarity, and the door closed behind him with a snap. Blair grinned.

“Blair, I wanted to talk to you.” Greg nodded towards a chair. “Sit down.”

“Okay.” Warily, Blair perched on the seat. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

“I just wanted to check how things are going with Jim.” Greg’s tone was sympathetic, but Blair winced a little.

“I don’t have a lot to do with him.” It hurt, but more like a dull ache than the sharp agony of the first few days. “He clearly wants space. I’m giving it to him.”

When he didn’t continue, Greg leaned forward, hands clasped on his desk. “And you? How are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess.” And didn’t that sound convincing? “I mean, it hurts, yeah, but I want what’s best for Jim. At least I know he’s alive.”

He endured a long stare from Greg, trying to look calm and accepting. Maybe it worked, because Greg looked down at his hands, then back up again. “You know you can talk to me, Blair. Any time you feel the need.”

“Yeah, I do.” That, at least, was the truth. “Thanks, Greg.” He stood, gesturing towards the door. “I’d better…”

Greg nodded. There was always plenty of work to do and never enough people to do it. “Take care.”

“Sure.” He closed the door softly behind him and blew out a huge sigh of relief. The smell of beef stew wafting from the kitchen made his mouth water and he headed towards the dining area. There were tables to set and people to talk to.

After his little talk with Greg, it came as a shock to see Jim among the people helping out. Apart from that one time, the day they found out about Tank, he’d avoided Blair. Today he nodded a curt greeting then, after a momentary hesitation, continued laying knives and forks on the table. Blair deliberately chose another of the long tables to set up.

There was no reason, therefore, for Jim to end up alongside him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he caught a glimpse of Jim’s tall figure beside him. “Uh… hey. How’s things?”

Jim didn’t return his smile. “That cop. What’s he after?”

Banks hadn’t told him not to discuss the other murder, but Blair wasn’t sure if he should.  He had no doubts about Jim, but there were plenty of others in earshot. “He was just checking in. No biggie.”

Jim’s face hardened. “No. What does he want with _you_?”

Was it jealousy he heard in Jim’s voice? As much as he’d like to think so, it seemed more like suspicion. His heart beating hard, Blair lied through his teeth. “Me? Nothing.” He laughed unconvincingly. “What would a cop want with me?”

Jim scowled and moved away, leaving Blair to contemplate his shaking hands.

*** 

The next time Blair saw Simon Banks, it was in the library at Rainier University. He was hard to miss, not just because of his imposing height and build, but because of his skin colour. The city of Cascade was a long way from the cultural diversity of San Francisco or Los Angeles, and black students were few and far between.

Somehow, it came as no surprise that Banks was there to see him. Blair smiled up at him and gestured to the seat opposite. “You could have found me at the shelter this afternoon. Didn’t Greg tell you that?”

Banks sat, his hard stare at the students nearby warned them not to make an issue of it. “I wanted to talk to you away from there. If the killer’s one of your drop-ins, it could put you at risk.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought of that. “Well, thanks…”

“I’ve finally got the second lot of ID’s from the military.” He laid down two photos.

One was Tank – younger, fresh faced, his hair buzz cut. The name on the back was Conrad Wedro. The sight of that face made Blair’s heart ache for that young man. To go through all that horror in ‘Nam and then end up dead on a Cascade street – it just didn’t seem right.

The other guy was vaguely familiar. For a moment, Blair couldn’t think where he might have seen him, and then somehow he knew. The photo wasn’t much like the sketch he’d seen, but the eyes and shape of the mouth belonged to the same man. “Is that…”

“Charles J Corning. J for Joshua.” Banks nodded. “The first victim.”

Blair digested that in silence for a moment. “So, the killer takes the dog tags from the first victim and puts them on the second?”

“And then takes the second victim’s tags and… is probably looking for victim number three right now.” Banks nodded, his face hard. “Which could mean that victim number one-”

“Isn’t our killer’s first murder.” He felt sick. How far back would the list go? “Have you looked for any earlier victims?”

“I talked to my captain. He’s getting a team on it now, but how much of a response he’ll get from other precincts…”

“Do you think the victims are linked somehow?” Blair’s thoughts were racing furiously, trying out theories and discarding most of them. “I mean, it seems like the murderer is trying to indicate some kind of connection.”

Banks shrugged. “It’s a possibility. Hopefully, there’s enough now to convince the military to release all three men’s service records. Maybe we’ll find something.”

“What about the dog tags? Do you have copies? Maybe there’s a clue there.”

Banks slid a sheet of typed paper across to him and Blair scanned the information. “That RA on Wentz’s service number means he was regular army, but the UA means the other two were drafted, so they wouldn’t all have trained together. The number six means Josh and Wentz were from the Pacific Coast, but Wedro… the four is for the South West area. So they either met up in ‘Nam, or back here.”

“Or maybe they’re just random victims.” Banks sighed impatiently. “We’ll know more, I guess, once I get their service records.”

***

He needed to spend more time at the shelter. Two afternoons and Saturdays were barely enough for Blair to gain the confidence of the guys he already knew. Once word got around that someone was targeting homeless vets, the shelter had started to fill up with guys who’d previously preferred to sleep rough. There was no way that Blair could keep track of who they were, let alone try to get them talking to him.

By swapping one of his tutorials and cutting a couple of study groups, Blair managed to free up another afternoon and a morning. He told himself it had nothing to do with wanting to see as much as possible of Jim.

Life at the shelter was going on pretty much as normal, but there was definitely an undercurrent of unease. Tension built and then released in squabbles and sometimes outright fights. Usually, Greg was there to step in, and if not him, then Jim or Cap would intervene. Both men were big enough and respected enough that physical intervention was rarely necessary; just their presence was enough.

“Hi, Blair,” Cap’s quiet voice dragged Blair’s attention away from contemplation of Jim, talking with a couple of the long term residents on the other side of the lounge. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure.” Blair smiled up at him, “take a seat.”

He’d brought two mugs with him, and Blair accepted one and raised it in a silent salute. “Thanks, Cap.” His real name actually _was_ Steve Rodgers, so, with his all-American good looks and polite manners, exactly like a throwback to the ‘Forties, it hadn’t taken long for the nickname to stick. “How’s things?”

Cap smiled. “I was going to ask you that. You look tired, Blair. And I couldn’t help noticing…”

Blair dragged his eyes away from Jim again. “What?”

“Greg told me that you and Jim were friends. Before he went to ‘Nam. And I can see that there’s… difficulties between you.” Cap’s voice was kind, sympathetic, and Blair had to swallow hard. “I just thought… maybe there are questions you don’t feel you can ask him? But if there’s anything, you know, more general things that you want to talk about… well, I’d be happy to…”

“Thanks.” Blair forced a smile. “I don’t think there’s anything… but if there is, I’ll… yeah… thanks.”

“Anytime, Blair.” Cap nodded. “Happy to help.”

He took another mouthful of coffee, savouring the bitterness for a moment before swallowing. Forcing his eyes away from Jim, he scanned the room. All the men whose lives had been broken, twisted, both physically and mentally – and this was just one shelter. All the lives lost, the families left bereft. Sometimes it overwhelmed him.

“Do you think…” No. It wasn’t fair to ask. He shook his head with a sigh. “Sorry, Cap.”

“Just ask, Blair. It’s okay.” The blue eyes were kind, but there was a depth of sadness in them that hurt Blair to look at. On the surface Cap might seem fine, but he was damaged just like all the others. Just like Jim.

“I was just thinking… wondering… do you think it’s possible to recover from something like ‘Nam?” Fuck, what a stupid question, but Cap tilted his head, apparently giving it serious consideration.

“People change, Blair. It’s not just experiences like Viet Nam… life changes people. So, do I think Jim will ever be the boy he was before ‘Nam? No, he won’t.” Cap smiled sadly. “That doesn’t mean he can’t be whole again. Whole, but different.”

 _Different enough to not want me anymore_. Blair nodded, his fingers tightening around the mug. “Thanks, Cap.”

He barely noticed the other man rise from his chair, or the brief pressure on his shoulder. He was too busy staring at the tabletop. When he looked up, Jim was staring at him from across the room, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

Blair looked away, but a moment later, Jim slid into the chair Cap had vacated.

“What do you think you’re doing, talking to him?” Jim’s voice was brusque, way beyond the point of rudeness.

Surprise held Blair silent for a moment, then he managed to say, reasonably calmly, “That’s none of your business, Jim. It’s private, okay?”

Jim’s lips thinned for a moment. “Keep away from him. And from that cop.”

“What the hell…” Blair stared at him, stunned. What was this? Jealousy? “Jim, you’re out of line, here.”

Even though they’d kept their voices low, the rest of the room had gone very quiet. Blair was pretty sure that it was no coincidence when the door opened and Greg came in. “Blair? Can I see you for a minute?”

“Gotta go.” Blair rose hastily, taking his mug with him.

***

Banks somehow tracked him down in the storage room Blair was using as his office; where he held tutorials and talked to anxious undergrads. His cheap cassette player was blaring: _“…_ _Into this world we're thrown. Like a dog without a bone…”_

Blair shook his head. “Man, I still can’t believe he’s dead.”

 “Who’s dead?” Banks grimaced. “Can you turn that down?”

“Sure.” Blair stopped the tape, swivelling in his chair to reach the tape deck. He turned back to see that the grim lines of Banks’ face hadn’t eased. “What’s happened?”

Banks hesitated, and Blair’s heart sank. “Oh, man. Not another murder?”

“I’m afraid so.” Banks inclined his head towards the single, not very sturdy chair on his side of the desk. “Can I?”

“Sure.”

He sat, reaching into his inside jacket pocket to pull out a thin cigarillo. “You mind?”

“Whatever, man.” Blair shrugged. “Your funeral.” He swallowed at his poor choice of words. “Do you know who it was?”

Simon took a deep draw on the cigarillo before answering. “Ray Guzman. You know him?” Wisps of strongly scented smoke drifted out his nostrils.

“Yeah. Shit.” In fact, he hadn’t known Ray well. He remembered a young, haunted face, a quiet voice with a soft South Western accent. Ray had kept to himself, at least when Blair had been around. “Have you found any link to the others? Did he have Tank’s dog tags?”

“He had the tags. No other links yet.” Banks drew on the smoke again, frowning. “We’re still waiting on his Army records. He was only killed last night, down near the waterfront. Any idea why he might be in that area?”

“Nope. I only talked to him a couple times.” Blair rubbed his palms over his face, trying to think. “He didn’t seem to have any friends at the shelter. None that I knew of, anyway.”

Banks grunted. “Dawson said pretty much the same thing. Guzman was a loner.”

God, Greg… he’d be devastated that another one of his guys had been killed. Blair felt like he should be down there at the shelter, but he had a class in twenty minutes and a tutorial after that. He wouldn’t be free until late afternoon. “Look, I’m tied up til four. I’ll go over to the shelter after that, hang around for the evening. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

“Okay, but don’t ask too many questions, just try to get people talking.” Banks took a final puff and stubbed out the cigarillo on a bit of card. “You got a trash can?”

Blair sighed. “Just leave it there. Last thing I need is a fire in my trash can.”

***

He got to the shelter just as dinner was being served, but there were enough volunteers to have that covered, so he grabbed a plate and found a seat at one of the tables. There were only a few empty spaces; it was hardly his fault that the one he’d picked – totally at random, of course – was near where Jim was sitting.

There wasn’t much talk, not while they were eating, but Blair saw Jim’s head come up. He favoured Blair with a hard stare for a moment, his nostrils flaring slightly, as if he was angry. Then he lowered his gaze to his plate and scooped up a forkful of beans and rice.

Even after the meal was finished, the mood was sombre and nobody was talking much. One by one the men wandered off to take their plates to the counter, some coming back with mugs of coffee, others going over to the lounge area to play checkers or watch TV, or just read. When Blair rose to take his plate back, Jim followed suit.

“You’ve been hanging round that cop again.” Jim’s voice was rough, barely above a whisper. “I warned you-”

“How did you- no, you know what? I don’t care.” Tension flared into anger. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Jim blinked, his face blanking for a moment. “There’s a killer out there. You don’t want to draw attention. It’s not safe.”

“I don’t want to stand by and do nothing, either.” Blair sighed, his anger draining away. “Jim, if you know anything, tell Banks. He’s a good guy.”

“I don’t know anything.” Jim shrugged, his eyes scanning the men milling around the room. “Nothing that would help the cops.”

“Well, if you do… look, I’d better go help with the clean up.” He hesitated for a moment, reluctant to leave Jim. “ _You_ be careful, Jim. This killer’s after veterans, not grad students.”

Jim looked unimpressed. “I can look after myself, Sandburg.”

Greg was in the kitchen, supervising. He looked a mess, but his face lightened a little when he saw Blair, and when his eyes shifted to Jim, standing behind Blair’s shoulder, he smiled. “It’s good to see you two talking.”

Jim only grunted. Blair shrugged. “I got the news. I’m so sorry, Greg.”

The smile faltered. “Ray was a good kid. I really thought I was getting through to him, you know? He was talking about studying medicine on the GI Bill. He said after all the death he’d seen, he wanted to help heal people.”

What could he say to that? Blair went over to Greg and hugged him, only releasing him when Greg started to pull away. His eyes were wet, but he simply shook his head and turned away to check on the clean up.

Blair went over to the counter and started stacking up plates to be washed.

***

The cops arrived just as things were starting to wind down. The men who were staying overnight had started drifting off to the dorms a while back, leaving mostly those who were either living elsewhere or on the street to linger over a last coffee. Banks was amongst them, conspicuous by his height, but the other detective – Wishinsky? Woznieci? Blair couldn’t remember – was in the lead, directing the uniformed cops to spread out around the doorway, preventing anyone from leaving.

All over the room, men were rising to their feet, some in anger, others in alarm.

“It’s okay, people. Just let me deal with this.” Greg turned, surveying the room, looking for signs of trouble. “Please, everyone, just sit down.”

Blair and some of the other volunteers began moving through the little knots of men; they all knew which ones were the most likely to react badly. He saw Jim doing the same and wished Cap was still there to help. He’d left not so long ago.

From the corner of his eye, Blair saw Greg talking to the detectives, anger radiating from every line of his body. The senior detective appeared to be blustering, defensive; Banks just looked pissed. He noticed Blair looking at him and shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning down. He wasn’t happy about this either.

The uniformed cops looked uneasy, fingering their batons as they surveyed the room. It wouldn’t take much, Blair realised, to start a riot – just one of the vets freaking out would set off the nervous cops and all hell could break loose. Greg must have come to the same conclusion. He turned away from the two detectives and came towards Blair. “I’m sorry, Blair. I can’t let this get out of control.”

“Sure.” Blair said, not understanding why Greg was apologising to him until he walked past Blair and stopped in front of Jim.

“Jim, the detectives want to ask you some questions.” Greg spoke with quiet authority. “I’ve told them you’ll go with them to the station. They just want to talk but, if you won’t agree to that, then they will have to arrest you.”

In the stillness of the room, there wasn’t anyone who couldn’t have heard Greg’s words. The tension was palpable. Blair felt like he might explode if he so much as moved and Jim stood like a statue; silent, unmoving except for the clenching of a fist, the twitch of a muscle in his jaw.

“Jim?” Greg looked him in the eye; his voice was soft, calm. “You know what will happen if you resist. I’m asking you to go quietly. I swear I’ll do everything in my power to help.”

Jim nodded, but didn’t move. His eyes flickered to Blair’s for a fraction of a second, then across to Banks, then back to Greg.

The atmosphere was becoming unbearable. Blair went to stand beside Jim and Greg, his knees shaking so badly he felt unsteady on his feet. “Jim, I’ll come with you. Is there someone you want Greg to call?”

“My father.” Jim’s voice was rough, barely a whisper. “It’s 555 8936. You don’t have to come, Sandburg.”

Blair shrugged. “I’m coming anyway.”

Jim nodded, hesitating a moment longer, then walked past Blair towards the cops. Blair hurried to catch up. As they reached the two detectives he sent Banks a hard glare. Banks had at least the grace to look embarrassed as the cops surrounded Jim and hustled him out of the room.

***

They were separated at the station. Blair was relieved to see that it was Banks who escorted Jim further into the station. In spite of what had just happened, he still trusted Banks a hell of a lot more than he did Wishonski, or whatever his name was. The older detective hadn’t even bothered to take an interest in the killings until they had hit the newspapers and local TV networks. At least Banks had cared enough to try and solve them.

With a sigh, Blair planted himself on the bench in the waiting area. This could take a long time.

People came and went. Cops escorted drunks and the occasional prostitute through to the cells. Two cops came in with a young woman, her face streaked with mascara blackened tears and wearing torn, bloodied clothes. It was sickeningly obvious what that was about and Blair swallowed heavily, wanting to go over and offer his support, but aware that it wouldn’t be welcomed. Besides, he was here for Jim. He’d promised, and he wouldn’t let Jim down.

It was a couple of hours before Banks came out, looking tired and harassed. Blair felt a surge of anger; Banks had promised to respect the work that they did in the shelter, and then he and his partner had ridden roughshod over all the carefully set up boundaries that allowed the shelter to be a safe haven.

“Where’s Jim?” Blair shot to his feet. “What are you-”

Banks held up a hand to silence him and in spite of his anger, Blair found himself obeying.

“Look, Sandburg, I’m sorry. I know I promised-”

Blair shrugged dismissively. “What else could I expect from the Pigs?”

Banks scowled furiously, but didn’t protest, which was admission enough, Blair supposed. All he was likely to get, anyway.

“I tried. But Wilczynski overruled me, and he’s the lead on this case.” Another glare seemed to indicate that the subject was now closed. “I just came to tell you we’re holding Ellison overnight, so you might as well go home.”

“Have you arrested him?” He waited for Banks’ shake of the head. “I want to talk to him. Has he been allowed to call a lawyer? What has he said?”

“You can’t talk to him. And I can’t discuss what he has and hasn’t said.” Banks hesitated, his lips compressing into a thin line for a moment. “Go home, Sandburg.”

“Why do you think he’s involved?” Unconsciously, Blair rose on the balls of his feet, trying to reduce the difference in their heights. He only just managed to resist the urge to poke Banks forcefully in the chest with his forefinger. “Come on, Banks. You wanted my help, now you’re just going to hang an innocent man out to dry and you won’t even tell me why you think he’s the killer?”

“Dammit, Sandburg!” Banks clenched his jaw on whatever he’d been going to say. Then he sighed heavily. “Okay, I can tell you this: Ellison was seen in the vicinity of the murder scene, around the time that the murder was committed.”

 _Shit_. Blair swallowed. “By who?”

Banks folded his arms over his chest, looking stubborn as a mule. “A reliable witness.”  When Blair didn’t back down, he rolled his eyes. “Okay. There’s a jewellery store nearby that was robbed a couple months back – hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of rough-cut diamonds. They’ve had a nightwatchman ever since. He gave us a description and the sketch artist made a composite that looks a hell of a lot like Ellison.”

“But-”

“Look, Sandburg, I know he’s some kind friend of yours.” Banks’ voice softened to a deep rumble. “I know you want to believe he’s innocent, but can’t you admit, even for a moment, that you just might be wrong about this guy?”

“No.” Blair shook his head emphatically. “No. I can’t.”

Banks sighed impatiently. “Well, think what you like, but you might as well go home, because Ellison’s not going anywhere.”

“Not until I see him.” When Banks shook his head, Blair persisted. “You know you can let me see him if you want to. Or are you too scared of that partner of yours? Where is he, anyway?”

A thunderous frown creased Banks’ face and he growled under his breath. “Wilczynski’s gone home.” Which clearly rankled. “All right. Wait here and I’ll… I’ll see what I can do.”

Satisfied, Blair dropped down onto the bench. “You couldn’t budge me, man. I’ll be right here.”

It wasn’t long before Banks came back. “I’ve talked to Ellison. He doesn’t want to see you.”

“I don’t bel-” Blair stopped as Banks held up his hand.

“Why should I bother to lie, when I can just have you kicked out or put in a cell?” Banks looked more bored than irritated. “Go home, kid. Maybe in the morning he’ll have changed his mind.”

***

Dragged out of a restless sleep, Blair glanced at his alarm clock. It was just after 2am. He groaned, wiping a shaking hand over his face and forced himself out of the tangled mess of bedding. “All right. I’m _coming_.”

The banging continued while he made his way to the door. He was too pissed off to think about whether he should open to whoever might be out there. Instead, he pulled the door wide and glared at the shadowy outline before him. “What do you _want_?”

“Can I come in?”

“ _Jim_? Are you okay? How did you know… no, never mind…” He grabbed Jim’s arm and pulled him inside. “When did they let you go?”

“About an hour ago.” Jim looked exhausted, once Blair got him into the light. “I’ve been… walking.”

“So, why did they let you out?” He flushed, realising how that sounded. “I mean-”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no evidence tying me to the scene, so they couldn’t charge me. Dad’s lawyer got me released.”

“Well, that’s great.” Blair smiled, his stomach churning with nerves. He’d never seen Jim like this, so grim and intimidating. “So… why are you _here_? You made it pretty clear earlier-”

“I can’t go to the shelter and… my father…” Jim looked away, “he sent his lawyer, but it’s pretty obvious he thinks I did it.”

“Oh, man. That sucks.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Well… you can crash here. On the couch. I’ll just get some blank-” Jim caught hold of his arm and he froze.

Jim moved in closer. Their bodies were almost touching. “Do you think I did it?”

He stifled his instinctive reaction to deny any such thing. Jim deserved an honest, considered answer from him.

Cap had been right, people change, and Jim wasn’t the guy he remembered, wasn’t the guy he’d fallen in love with. But, as difficult as things had been between them since meeting up again, he couldn’t believe that Jim could have changed so much from the young man he’d been in San Francisco. Not enough to become a serial killer.

He looked up into Jim’s face, meeting his eyes, and said with quiet deliberation. “No. I don’t think you did it.”

Something changed in Jim’s face, in his eyes. Blair couldn’t read him at all, but his breath caught in his throat and he felt almost sick with pity and… yes, love, he supposed. Then Jim leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t a pleasant kiss. It was hard and hungry and needily selfish, bruising his lips and stealing his breath. Before he could decide what to do about it, Jim brought up his hands in an oh, so familiar gesture and buried his fingers in Blair’s hair. Blair groaned, long forgotten memories igniting his body with desire. He pushed back against Jim, his lips parting, but Jim refused the invitation.

He angled his head, attacking Blair’s throat with fierce, sucking kisses and bites that would leave marks. His hands were gone from Blair’s hair, tugging at his t-shirt and roughly exploring his chest. He groaned into Blair’s shoulder and inhaled deep, ragged breaths.

“Jim? Oh god… Jim…” Need and desire warred with fear and fear lost, though he broke out in cold sweat. This wasn't any kind of lovemaking Blair understood. It wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t sane. And he wasn’t going to stop it. He couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to. “Jim, through there.”

He backed up, drawing Jim with him towards his bed. Somewhere along those few steps, his t-shirt was lost, and by the time his calves hit the edge of the low futon, his sweatpants were barely clinging to his hips. His face still buried in Blair’s neck, Jim plunged one hand beneath the loosely tied waistband and grabbed hold of Blair’s cock.

It sent a jolt through him that made him cry out, his body arching forward into Jim’s hand. “Oh, god, _please_ …”

Jim growled, and pulled away, roughly manhandling Blair to face away from him and pushing him down onto the bed. The scrape of woollen blanket against his chest drew a ragged groan and then Blair caught his breath in his throat as Jim dragged the sweatpants down over his ass.

In the space of a few, rapid heartbeats – a fucking eternity – Jim was inside him. No prep, no lube, just the barely noticed sound of a zipper and Jim’s harsh breathing. The first few thrusts were glorious, in spite of the discomfort, and then it _hurt_. He struggled beneath the weight of Jim’s body, his face mashed into the blankets, and choked, trying to protest. There was lube, dammit, in the little cabinet beside his bed, but it might as well be on Mars.

Jim must be feeling almost as uncomfortable but if he was, Blair couldn’t tell. He tried once again, his ass rising as he struggled, and – _oh, fuck_ – Jim thrust into him, hitting that sweet, sweet spot, and suddenly Blair just didn’t care anymore. He managed to get his hand beneath him and wrapped it around his cock, jerking himself off with rapid, uncoordinated ferocity. His balls drew up, painfully tight and then the climax exploded through him.

His next moment of awareness came as Jim cried out, his breath hot on Blair’s neck. His cock was buried balls deep inside Blair’s ass, and he could feel the pulse of it as Jim came. Jim slumped down, almost suffocating Blair with his weight and Blair muttered a protest that Jim was unlikely to hear.

It was several minutes Blair guessed, since he couldn’t see his clock from this angle, before Jim finally moved, his cock sliding easily from Blair’s burning ass. He thought about complaining, or maybe hitting the stupid bastard, but it was just easier to burrow under the blankets and go to sleep.

He drifted awake again, in the dark, to the welcome warmth of a hard body pressed against his back, an arm around his chest. Or maybe it was just a dream, because in the morning he was alone.

***

Blair forced himself to shower and shave, still seething with anger. It didn’t help that when he looked in the mirror he saw the marks that Jim had put on his neck and, when he looked down, the fingertip bruises on his hips. His ass throbbed and burned relentlessly, but he guessed he only had himself to blame for that. He should have had more sense, dammit. The next few days were not going to be pleasant.

There was no food in what passed for his kitchen – a hotplate, an electric kettle and a toaster sitting on top of a workbench. He’d have to go out if he wanted breakfast, and he was ravenous. It would be a relief, actually, to get out of here. There was nowhere in this open space, where he couldn’t see the bed, and he didn’t need that reminder on top of all the others he _couldn’t_ avoid.

The local bakery provided him with bagels, but he didn’t turn back to his warehouse. He wasn’t ready for that yet. There was a diner not too far away where he could grab a coffee and maybe a doughnut. After that he could head over to the campus and spend some time in the library.

He was just turning into the doorway of the diner when something caught his eye. He hesitated and looked across at the small park opposite and the lone figure sitting on one of the benches. Abruptly, Blair turned back and crossed the road to the park.

Jim didn’t look up as Blair stopped in front of him. For a moment, Blair was just too angry to speak then, as he took in a deep breath preparing to tell Jim _exactly_ what he thought of him, Jim muttered: “I’m sorry.”

 _Fuck_.

Blair let out the breath and sat down on the bench, leaving a couple feet between them. His heart was pounding, his head was too; and his ass was protesting the hardness and coldness of the bench. He tried a couple times to speak, but the words kept disappearing into nothingness. Finally he sighed, staring, like Jim, down at the pavement between his feet.

“Okay. I get that you’ve been through things I probably can’t even imagine. I get that coming back, trying to find your way again is hard, and you need space. I get that this… this thing between us is… hell, I don’t even know how to describe it. And I get that last night you were in trouble and that you needed somewhere to go and it all got out of hand, but…” _Jesus. Jesus Fucking Christ_. “…but you don’t get to use me like that and then just get up and walk out on me, okay? And you don’t get to shut me out, not after last night. For fuck’s _sake_ , Jim, I may be the only friend you have in the whole city. And even if you don’t think of me as a friend, I _am_.”

He risked a sideways glance at Jim and saw, incredulously, that the corner of Jim’s mouth had quirked up in a way that was heartbreakingly familiar. “Jesus, Sandburg, I’d forgotten what a feisty little son of a bitch you were. You haven’t changed at all.”

Blair laughed, ignoring the sick sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Oh, you’re wrong. You’re so wrong.” Shamefully, his voice cracked on the last word.

Jim’s head turned slightly. His one visible eye scanned Blair’s face and he nodded soberly, acknowledging the truth of Blair’s words. “I’m sorry.”

Same words, but with a sincerity that the first grudging apology had lacked. Blair felt some of the tension drain away from him. “I can help you, Jim, but I need to know what’s going on.”

There was a long pause before Jim finally nodded. “All right. But not here.”

He held up the paper sack. “I’ve got bagels, and there’s coffee at home.”

***

A large mug of coffee did a lot to restore Blair’s shattered equilibrium and Jim, after downing half his mug, seemed a bit more relaxed too. He picked up a toasted bagel slice and bit into it chewing appreciatively. Blair decided he could wait a little longer and found himself demolishing his bagel with sudden enthusiasm.

When there was nothing but crumbs, he got up and sliced two more bagels, popping them into the toaster. He turned, leaning back against the workbench to look at Jim expectantly.

Jim sighed and looked down at his hands, clasping the mug. “Look, Blair… I can’t explain what’s going on without telling you some stuff…”

When he didn’t continue, Blair prompted, “yeah?”

“Well, you’re probably not going to believe it, okay?” Jim grimaced down at the mug. “I wouldn’t have believed it if it hadn’t… so, I just… if you don’t believe me, it’s okay. I’ll just go and you can stay out of this whole mess.”

“Just tell me, Jim.” The toaster popped and Blair collected the bagel slices, juggling them a little because of the heat, and deposited them on the plate in the middle of the table.

“It… started while I was in ‘Nam.” Jim still wouldn’t look up. He was slowly buttering his bagel, with far more concentration than such a simple task required. “After I was…”

“Taken prisoner?” Blair forced the words out. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this. He was damn sure Jim wasn’t, but obviously Jim thought it was necessary.

Jim nodded, jerkily. “After… after they’d finished…” his fingers began to shake and he fell silent for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds. Then he put the bagel down and finally looked up at Blair. “Anyway, they put me in this cage. Too low to stand up in, too narrow to lie down… it was in the jungle, god knows how far from anywhere. I don’t remember getting there. There were some others, out of sight; I used to hear American voices sometimes. I’d yell, best I could, but it didn’t seem like anyone heard me.” His voice choked and he took a swig of coffee.

Blair reached over and touched the back of his hand lightly. “It’s okay if you don’t want-”

“No, I need to explain, to make you understand.” Jim’s eyes lifted for a moment to meet his, then dropped again. “Sometimes I’d go days without seeing anyone. I never knew when – or if – they were coming with food and water. I started hallucinating, or I thought I was, but I was sick a lot, too. It was kind of a blur. I don’t know how long it went on. Then, one day this old guy came… I thought I was hallucinating again when he opened the cage with a key. He signed to me to follow him, so I did.”

Jim smiled faintly. “He looked ancient, but I couldn’t keep up with him. In the end, I just sat down and he left, but then he came back with some younger men and they helped me. We walked for days, it seemed, until we came to this village in the mountains. His village.”

“That’s how you escaped?” Blair knew there were hill tribes in remote areas of Viet Nam, but he’d never heard of them helping prisoners of war.

“Yeah.” Jim shrugged offhandedly. “Not exactly heroic.”

“At least you got away. How long did you stay with them?” He was trying to work out some kind of time frame in spite of the vagueness of Jim’s account.

Jim’s shoulders tensed. “Two and a half years, give or take.” His voice held a mixture of defensiveness and defiance. “At first I was too sick to go anywhere, and then…” His mouth tightened. “I couldn’t go back. Besides, I owed them.”

Blair shook his head. “Hey, you _know_ I’m not gonna care about that. I wanted you to come to Canada with me, remember?”

“Yeah, well others might not feel the same, so just keep it under your hat, okay?” But Jim smiled a little, in spite of the sternness of his voice. “The thing is, this guy was some kind of a witch doctor-”

“Shaman,” Blair corrected, automatically.

“Whatever. When I’d learned enough of the language, he told me-” Jim broke off abruptly; the telltale twitch of his jaw muscle warned Blair they were getting to the point at last. “He told me I had special powers.”

Blair blinked. He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say except: “Go on.”

“He said he wanted to train me to use the powers.” Jim was watching him closely now, just waiting, Blair thought, for some sign of disbelief or derision. “He called me a…” he hesitated, obviously searching for the right word “…a sentinel, and he said that I could see better than other men, that all my senses were stronger, more powerful, and that I could use them to protect his people.”

Something stirred at the back of Blair’s mind. Something he’d read… he studied Jim’s tense face. “And did you have, uh, powers?”

“Yes.”

Just one word; and Jim waiting, past the point of no return, for his reaction.

“Cool,” Blair said. And then, “oh… is that why you were… you’re trying to find the killer?” He didn’t need Jim’s nod of assent to confirm his guess.

“I went to the place where Tank was killed. I thought maybe I’d see something the cops had missed.” Jim shrugged. “I figured it was worth a try, anyway. My senses haven’t been working so well since I got back.”

“Maybe I can help with…” Blair realised he was getting off track. “Sorry. Did you find anything?”

“Not exactly.” Jim’s lips tightened briefly. “I smelled something. Some kind of incense I remembered from Saigon. I knew I’d smelled it at the shelter too, so I figured if I could work out who I’d smelled it on, then I could follow him, try to catch him in the act.”

“Wait a minute.” Blair leaned forward, “You know who the killer is?”

Jim nodded. “Yeah, but I can’t prove it. Nobody would believe me.”

“ _I_ would.” Blair stared, fascinated, at Jim’s stern face. He had no doubt at all that this incredible story was true. “Who is it?”

“No.” Jim said emphatically. “I can’t tell you.”

“But-”

“If I told you, could you go back to the shelter and look him in the eye, knowing what he’d done?” Jim shook his head. “If I told you it could put you in danger. Or at the least, it would warn him that we were on to him.”

Reluctantly, Blair had to concede that he had a point. “So, what happened last night?”

“I’ve been hanging around, and waiting for him to try again. And last night I saw him sneaking out of the shelter after it closed up. I was following him, about a block behind.” Jim was watching his face, probably looking for any sign of skepticism, Blair thought. “It was dark, and there weren’t many people around. I couldn't risk getting closer. I was tracking him with my hearing… and this car came past, radio up so loud…” Jim shook his head, frowning. “Just as they passed me, the driver blasted on the horn, and I… sometimes the senses get overloaded…”

 “You lost him?”

Jim nodded wearily. “Yeah. By the time I picked him up again, it was too late.”

“You didn’t go to the crime scene, did you, Jim?” Blair tensed. “Because if the cops find _anything_ to tie you to the scene-”

“Relax, Sandburg,” Jim growled. “I’m not stupid. I’d already figured that one out.”

He smiled in relief. “Good. So what are we going to do next? I’ve got some ideas-”

Jim’s jaw dropped slightly, then clamped shut. “You’re not doing anything, Sandburg. It’s too dangerous.”

Blair smiled serenely. “I think we should start with your senses. So I’ve got some idea of what the parameters are.”

***

“Okay, that’s _enough_ ,” Jim growled. “No more tests.”

“But I just…” Blair hesitated as he took in the tension lines on Jim’s face, the bruised look around his eyes. He glanced at his clock and saw it was past noon, and they hadn’t had a break in several hours. “Okay. Sorry. It’s just…” Just the most exciting, incredible thing that had ever happened to him. “How about we go outside? Take a break, maybe go to that park. There’s a diner not far from there where we can get some food and halfway decent coffee.”

The frown faded from Jim’s face and he even cracked a faint smile. “That sounds good.”

They didn’t talk much, and Blair could feel Jim gradually relaxing as they walked. When they got to the diner it was busy and Jim hesitated in the doorway as the sounds and smells enveloped them. The frown was back on his forehead and he flinched as someone clattered a fork against a plate.

“Uh… how about you go over to the park and I’ll get takeout?” Blair suggested.

Jim looked relieved. “Okay. Just a burger for me.”

The service at this diner was as good as the food and it wasn’t long before Blair joined Jim in the park. They ate in silence, and drank their coffee. Blair devoured his food and then leaned back to watch Jim finish off his burger. He seemed almost hesitant, as though expecting something bad tasting. He’d said that sometimes his senses were overwhelming; maybe it was that.

Jim nodded, when Blair suggested the possibility. “Yeah, it can be pretty intense, sometimes. That was one of the things that Cá Mò had to teach me – how to control the level. It’s harder here; there’s always too much of everything, but mostly I manage.”

“Maybe I can help.” At Jim’s dubious expression, Blair grinned. “I promise I won’t always be making you jump through hoops. I just wanna get a feel for what you can do.”

“What I _need_ to do is find the evidence that’ll put this killer away.” He turned his head to meet Blair’s eyes. “Look, Blair, this could get dangerous. You don’t have to be a part of it.”

“He’s killing people I care about, Jim. I’m already a part of it.” Blair hesitated, knowing Jim wasn’t going to like his next suggestion. “We need to tell someone – Greg, or Banks, even. It won’t be much use getting evidence unless we can explain how we got it.”

***

Like some kind of horrible action replay, Blair was alone again when he woke. He groaned, lifting both hands to his face and rubbing his eyes, burning from not having enough sleep. It had been late – really late – when they’d stumbled into bed last night. He’d thought they were both too exhausted for it to matter that they were sharing a bed again. But then… his gut tightened with a sick feeling of desolation. _Stupid. So fucking stupid, and now this… great start to the day, Sandburg._

Then he heard a quiet clatter from the kitchen area and smelled coffee. He sat up.

“About time, Chief. These eggs are nearly ready.” Jim grinned at him. He looked more relaxed, more like the Jim he’d known in San Francisco, than Blair had ever seen him. It made his gut tighten again for an entirely different reason, and set off warning bells somewhere way in the back of his mind.

“Great.” Blair fingered his hair into some semblance of order and forced himself out of the bed. “I just gotta use the bathroom.” He hunted around for his sweatpants and t-shirt and pulled them on, added a sweater and pair of warm socks for good measure. The warehouse had plenty of space, sure, but sometimes it was like living in a fridge.

Jim nodded. “Don’t take too long.”

In the bathroom he turned on the light and took a long look in the mirror, trying not to freak out at the face that looked back at him. What the fuck had he been thinking? His hands started to shake and he took a deep breath, splashed some water on his face and went over to the toilet for a desperately needed piss. Then back to the sink to soak a washcloth and try to remove the dried spunk from his chest and belly. So much for his ‘no sex’ rule.

He joined Jim at the table, just as he was spooning the scrambled eggs onto two plates. Yesterday’s bagels were there too, split and toasted to perfection. And coffee. Wonderful, glorious coffee. Blair grabbed his mug and took a cautious sip, then a longer one. He sighed, feeling the caffeine coursing through his veins. “Thanks, Jim. You didn’t have to do this.”

Jim shrugged, smiling. “No problem. Don’t you have classes today?”

“Yeah, but I thought I’d blow them off.” He scooped up some egg with his fork and let the curds dissolve slowly in his mouth. Then more coffee. Across the table, Jim was demolishing his breakfast, piling egg onto torn off bits of bagel and popping them into his mouth. He looked happy, Blair realised with a sinking heart. “Jim, we have to talk.”

“What about?” Jim’s face clouded over. His hand, resting on the table beside his plate, clenched into a fist.

“About us. About what comes next.” Blair reached across the table, laying his hand over Jim’s. “Jim, you can’t stay here.” His fingers tightened as Jim tried to jerk his hand away. “It’s not that I don’t want to help, but-”

“You don’t have to explain anything, Sandburg. It’s your home.” His voice was cold, hard; there was no expression on his face. “You don’t want me here, I’m gone.”

“Jim, just _listen_ to me, okay?” He waited, eyes holding Jim’s, until he nodded reluctantly. “Back in San Fran… I loved you, Jim. I really did. And I still do…”

The frown lines between Jim’s eyebrows deepened. “But?”

“But… the you I love? The me that loved you? They don’t exist anymore, Jim.” Saying it aloud made him almost sick with misery. “Those kids are gone and what we have right now is just the memory of what we felt then.”

Jim looked away, his jaw muscle twitching. “So it’s over. Is that what you’re saying?”

“No. What I’m saying is, if you stay here we may never find out if there’s anything real, now, that we can make work.” He took a deep breath and let it out, trying to calm the tremors that were running through him. “And if you stay here we’re gonna keep on sleeping together, because I don’t have the strength to _not_ sleep with you. And if we do that, we’ll only end up hurting each other. We need to find out if the people we are _now_ can be together, not try to recreate something we can never have again.”

He felt the hand beneath his fingers relax a little as Jim nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “Got any ideas where I can go? Because I don’t think any of the shelters is going to take in a suspected serial killer.”

There really was only one answer, if Jim would accept it. “You need to talk to your father.”

“No.” Jim’s fist clenched again.

“Jim, just think about it, okay? What other option is there?” He saw, resignedly, the stubborn jut of chin. “You don’t know he thinks you did it. I mean, it’s pretty shocking stuff to have someone you care about suspected of a crime like that. He may have just freaked out.”

“You didn’t.”

Blair chuckled weakly. “Oh, believe me, I did.”

The tight lines of Jim’s mouth relaxed slightly. “You didn’t assume I was guilty.”

“No, but come on. Somehow I doubt I’m much like your father.”

At that, Jim actually laughed. “Sandburg, you are nothing like my father.”

“Good.” Blair grinned, weak with relief. “Because that would just be creepy.”

***

They took a cab to Jim’s house. Both of them, because Blair wasn’t sure that Jim wouldn’t baulk. The ride passed in uneasy silence, broken only when the cab pulled up outside a two level fake-colonial style house that almost screamed “middle class affluence”.

“ _This_ is where you grew up?” It just didn’t seem like Jim’s kind of place at all.

Jim shrugged, somewhat sulkily.

Blair passed a ten to the cabbie. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes, okay?”

“Sure, man.” He cut the engine and leaned back, closing his eyes.

Jim was standing by the gate, looking impatient. He turned as Blair came up to him, staring at the façade of the house. “You’d better be right about this, Sandburg.”

He forced himself to answer with an assurance he didn’t actually feel. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.” He pushed the gate open and waved Jim through. “Come on.”

Apparently, Jim didn’t have a key, because he stopped at the door and rang the bell, ignoring Blair’s surprised look. After a short wait the door opened. The man who stood in front of them looked exactly how Blair could have imagined Jim looking in thirty years time.

“Jimmy!” Relief was followed by wariness in William Ellison’s face. “Where the hell… the Police told me they’d released you. I’ve been calling the shelters-”

“I stayed with Blair.” Jim took a step forward and his father backed up a pace. “Now I’m back. If that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay.” If he spoke just a little too quickly, too nervously, at least he seemed to genuinely mean it. His eyes shifted from Jim to Blair and narrowed. “ _You’re_ Blair?”

 _Oh god_ … “Uh-”

“Blair Sandburg. He’s a friend.” Now Jim was looking from Blair’s frozen face to his father’s confused one.

“Yeah, well nice to meet you, Mr Ellison.” Blair smiled weakly. “Uh, I’ve gotta…” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the cab. “I’ll see you later, Jim. Okay?” He didn’t give either of them a chance to speak as he hightailed it back to the cab.

***

The envelope was tattered and the paper inside limp and creased from too much handling, the ink faded almost to illegibility. But that was okay. Blair didn’t need to read it; he knew every word by heart. Instead he looked at the stiff, formal lettering on the outside.

_‘Miss Blair Sandburg_  
 _Jeffrey Haight Hotel_  
 _1665 Haight St_  
 _San Francisco’_

Of course by the time the letter was written, both Blair and Naomi had already left San Francisco. So his mother’s friends had forwarded it to the last place they knew she’d been, and then it had been forwarded again. And again, several times, each address crossed out and a new one scribbled in its place, until it finally reached Naomi. She’d brought it to Cascade herself and held his hand while he read it. And then she’d held him while he cried his heart out.

He hadn’t expected Jim’s father to recognise his name. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had only been three and a half years.

Three and a half years since Jim had been listed as MIA. Three and a half years since William Ellison had written that painfully awkward letter to the person he’d assumed was Jim’s girlfriend.

Not for the first time, Blair wondered what had been in Jim’s effects to give his father that impression. Obviously, nothing explicit enough to reveal Blair’s sex, but enough to reveal their emotional connection, if nothing more.

He wasn’t going to think about that. He wasn’t going to think about the conversation Jim might be having with his father right now.

Blair’s fingers began to shake. The paper rustled.

He just wasn’t.

***

“Hey, Blair. You got a minute?”

He smiled at the girl, whose auburn hair reminded him so much of Naomi. “For you, Astrid? Always.”

She laughed. “I missed class last week. Can I borrow your notes sometime?”

“Sure.” They fell into step, going with the flow of other students towards the main door of Hargrove Hall. “You okay? It’s not like you to miss class.”

“Unlike you.” She stopped, halfway down the steps and turned to face him. “You’ve missed a lot of classes lately. Are _you_ okay?”

“Just a lot going on.” Blair shrugged, as casually as he could. “I’ve been helping out a friend, and-”

“You mean him?” Astra inclined her head towards the fountain and Blair turned to look. Jim was there, standing still among the flood of students hurrying to the next class, wherever it might be. His dark sweater and jeans were in stark contrast to the much more brightly dressed students. Everything about him, even that stillness, made him stand out and it was no surprise to Blair that the other students flowed around him at a measurable distance. He made them all look like a bunch of high schoolers.

He was staring straight at Blair.

“Yeah, that’s him.” He smiled apologetically at her. “I’d better go see…” he started down the steps again, then hesitated, remembering Astrid’s request. “I’ll get those notes to you tomorrow. Okay?”

“Thanks, Blair.” She grinned. “He’s cute.”

Cute wasn’t exactly the word Blair would use to describe Jim. He trotted over to Jim’s side. “I thought we were meeting this aft-”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Jim’s voice was hard, his face tense. He was looking just over Blair’s shoulder; something he only did when he was unhappy or angry.

“Okay,” Blair looked around, even though he knew there was nowhere private in the area. “Look, I was going to get a hot dog – there’s a cart about a block from here. You wanna join me?”

Jim shrugged and turned away. Blair followed.

They covered the block in silence, and bought their dogs, eating them as they walked back to the grassy area by Hargrove, which was now almost cleared of students. They sat on one of the benches and finished their meal. Blair licked his fingers clean and then looked at Jim expectantly. “So… I guess your father told you about the letter.”

“Yeah.” Jim’s gaze dropped to his hands. “I just… I wanted to say… I’m sorry.”

“You’re…” Blair blinked at him, puzzled. “Sorry for what, Jim?”

A muscle twitched in Jim’s jaw, and he was staring past Blair’s shoulder again, frowning. “I thought… when I was a prisoner, I thought… when I didn’t come back you’d think I was just an asshole. That I didn’t care enough to find you again.”

Blair made a protesting sound, and Jim shook his head; a faint, grim smile did nothing to lighten his expression. “I was glad, you know? It was better than…”

“Thinking you were dead?”

“Yeah.” He met Blair’s eyes briefly, then stared down at his hands, clenched into fists on his thighs. “That’s what I _thought_. But then, when I saw you… I felt so _angry_ … I don’t even know… I mean…” He swore under his breath, his whole body tense. “I guess I was angry with you for thinking I was an asshole.”

“Jim…” Blair patted his arm gently. “You know I never thought you were an asshole.”

“No, I know, but…” He shook his head. “All that time, you thought I was dead and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Blair.”

“Hey, it’s okay, Jim.” His fingers were trembling as he laid them against Jim’s cheek, turning his head to meet his eyes. “It’s over now, and it’s going to be okay. _We’re_ going to be okay.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips carefully to Jim’s, just for a moment, then drew back.

Jim’s eyes scanned his face, then he nodded, almost imperceptibly. “All right.”

Blair felt the tension slowly drain away. “So how did you, uh… explain things to your father?”

“I didn’t.” Jim shrugged, turning his face away. “I mean, he just assumed he’d got it wrong.” 

“And you didn’t correct him.” There was no reason why Blair should feel so let down. “Hey, it’s cool. Not everyone has a parent like Naomi.”

The corner of Jim’s mouth twitched. “Sandburg, _nobody_ has a parent like Naomi. Except you.”

***

It wasn’t hard to see Detective Banks in the distance, coming towards them; his height made him stand out from the other pedestrians. It wasn’t hard, either, to see the moment he realised that Blair wasn’t alone. After a brief hesitation, barely more than a break in his stride, he came on, pulling out a chair and sitting on it with an irritated glance in Jim’s direction.

The waitress bustled over with a cup and carafe of coffee, forcing them to remain discreetly silent. Banks waved away the offer of a menu and took a sip of coffee while she refilled Jim and Blair’s cups.

“What’s this about?” His voice was a little more irritable than usual. “I thought you had some new information.”

“Not exactly.” Blair glanced at Jim. “But I think we can help.”

“We?” Banks sighed. “Sandburg, there is no ‘we’ here. There is no way I can allow someone to participate in the investigation of a murder for which he is the _chief suspect_. Hell, given your connection with Mr Ellison, I shouldn’t even be talking to _you_.”

“I told you this was a waste of time.” Jim started to push back his chair, but stopped when Blair laid a hand on his arm.

“And I told you he’d take some convincing.’ Blair smiled hopefully at Banks. “So let me convince him.

Jim subsided, grumbling a little and Blair met Banks’ glare without flinching. “Look, Simon… uh, Detective Banks, what if I could give you a reasonable explanation of why Jim was near the scene of the last murder? Would that help?”

Banks raised his eyes heavenwards for a moment. “You mean casting doubt on the only lead we have in a triple homicide?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Sure. Why not?”

Ignoring another mutter from Jim’s direction, Blair leaned forward, earnestly. “Jim’s been trying to help. He’s been convinced from the beginning that the murderer is involved with the shelter, and now he knows who it is.”

“Is that so?” Banks turned with an exaggerated show of politeness towards Jim. “So, tell me, Mr Ellison, who is the murderer?”

Jim shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. I know who he is, but I don’t have any proof.”

“I see.” Banks turned a thunderous scowl on Blair. “Mr Sandburg, if you pull another stunt like this I’ll arrest you for wasting police time. Is. That. Clear?”

Blair ignored him. “Jim, we _have_ to tell him. Everything.”

“Tell me what?” Banks glanced from Blair to Jim and back again. “If I find out you’re withholding evidence… so help me, Sandburg-”

“We’re not.” Blair interrupted, desperately. “Not exactly. Jim has some information, but you’ll never be able to use it in a trial.”

Banks gestured impatiently. “Why not?”

Before Blair could answer, Jim said quietly: “Because nobody will believe it.”

***

As Blair had predicted, Banks wasn’t easily convinced. He listened impatiently to Blair’s explanation of Jim’s abilities, but once Jim had demonstrated what he could do, Banks grew thoughtful.

“So, you identified this scent? That was familiar from Viet Nam?” He looked from Jim to Blair and back again. “That’s pretty slim, Ellison.”

“I know.” Jim was still tense, his jaw twitching. “But I’d also smelled it at the shelter. I just needed to narrow it down.”

“To an individual.” Banks nodded. “And did you?”

“I wasn’t sure.” Jim glanced over at Blair. Blair nodded encouragingly. “So I hung around after I left the shelter each night. And I followed him. But that night he gave me the slip.”

“Wait.” Banks frowned. “If you have all these super powers, how could you lose him?”

“I was a block and a half back, following by sound.” Jim’s jaw clenched for a moment. “Some asshole came past in his car, leaned on his horn right beside me.”

“See, if Jim extends his senses, say his hearing, and there’s a loud noise, it’s magnified maybe a hundred times.” Blair explained hurriedly. “It can be excruciatingly painful.”

“Yeah.” Jim nodded. “By the time I’d recovered, he was gone. So I was trying to find him again when that security guard saw me. But I was too late. Ray was already dead.”

Blair could hear, again, the bitter sense of failure in Jim’s voice. Clearly, Banks did too, but all he did was sigh. “Look, say I believe you. It doesn’t really help, does it? You can testify that you saw him, but it’s just your word against his. And he wasn’t seen at the kill site. _You_ were.”

Jim glared at both of them impartially. “I told you he wouldn’t-”

“Jim, he _does_ believe you.” Blair looked imploringly at Banks. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Banks admitted reluctantly. “But I’m damned if I know how this helps.”

***

“Blair!” Greg hurried over as silence fell across the room and everyone turned to stare at Blair. “Thank god. I was getting worried…”

It had only been three days, but Blair understood. So much had happened that it seemed a lot longer. For Greg, his absence must have seemed ominous.

“Have you seen Jim? How is he?” Greg took Blair’s arm and led him towards his office. “I heard he’d been released.”

“Jim’s fine. The cops released him because there was no evidence tying him to Ray’s murder. Just some guy who’d seen someone like Jim near the scene.” Blair spoke loud enough for the people closest to hear. He knew the word would spread fast.

Greg’s worried frown eased a little. He closed the door behind Blair, waving him to a seat. “Well, I suppose that’s something.” He looked at Blair hopefully. “Are there any other leads?”

Blair shook his head. They’d all agreed not to tell Greg what Jim suspected.

“Damn.” Greg sighed as he lowered himself into his chair. He looked ten years older. “You know I can’t let Jim come back until he’s exonerated. I take it he’s still a suspect?”

“Yeah.” Blair shrugged. “They can’t prove he did it, but he can’t prove he didn’t. They’re still looking at other possibilities and Banks says the Army is going to release the files on all the victims. Maybe that’ll provide some clues.”

Greg sighed again and rubbed his hand over his face. “God, I hope so. It’s good to have _you_ back, at least.”

“I’m still in contact with Jim,” Blair warned. “If that’s a problem, you’d better say so now.”

“No, of course it isn’t.” Greg met his eyes. “I know how you feel about Jim – hell, we all do-”

Blair twitched, dismayed. “Is it that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so.” Greg smiled, genuine humour momentarily erasing the grim lines around his mouth. “But we also know that if Jim really was the killer, you wouldn’t protect him.”

Blair wished he could be so sure of that, but he said nothing. He needed to be here if they were going to catch a killer.

***

Banks was waiting for them when Jim and Blair arrived at the café that was now their regular meeting place. He looked – for Banks – pleased about something. “Gentlemen.”

He sounded pleased too.

They sat and waited while their waitress poured them each a cup of coffee. “What’s happened, Simon?”

Even Banks’ usual glower when Blair used his first name was little more than a faint grimace. “I’ve got the files. Even better, we’ve identified the first victim.”

“Frederick Wentz?” Blair glanced at Jim, who was watching Banks closely.

Banks nodded. “They sent a photo, so I did a search on unidentified homicide Vics. At first it came up blank, so I sent off some faxes to other jurisdictions.” He paused for effect. “Wentz was murdered in Seattle, nearly six months ago. Same M.O, except that he didn’t have any dog tags.”

“Exactly when was Wentz killed?” Jim’s voice was tense.

Banks actually smiled “April fifth.”.

“I was in the VA hospital in Los Angeles until April twelfth.” Jim smiled at Blair, seeming almost dazed.

“So, Jim’s in the clear?” He grabbed Jim’s arm. “That’s… he’s not a suspect anymore?”

“Nope.” Banks shook his head. “Even my… partner… has had to admit, Ellison’s no longer a suspect.”

 “I can go back to the shelter.” Jim’s face hardened, and Blair knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Now wait a minute,” Banks growled.

“Have you got any better ideas?” Jim’s challenging gaze moved from Banks to Blair, who held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, I’m not arguing, here, Jim.” He hated the idea. More than likely, the killer suspected that Jim was onto him. But Jim was their best chance of catching him before he killed again. “Simon, you know we need to do this. Did you bring the files like I asked?”

Grumbling wordlessly under his breath Banks lifted his satchel onto the table and took out a wad of blurred, typewritten pages. “Here.”

Blair reached for them, and Banks laid his large hand on top. “You realise I shouldn’t be showing either of you these files. It was hard enough getting them out of the Army in the first place. If they knew…”

“Just let Jim look at them, Simon. Maybe he’ll see something you missed.”

Even Jim looked doubtful at that, but at least he’d actually been there, in ‘Nam. It was a long shot, sure, but… he watched as Jim leafed through the papers, a frown slowly deepening between his eyebrows. “What is it, Jim?”

“I’m not… it may just be a coincidence…” he turned another page. And another. His lips thinned. “Goddammit.”

Banks leaned forward, his face intent. “What, Ellison? Spit it out, for Chrissakes.”

“There were rumours, when I got to ‘Nam. Stories about a village, a massacre…”

Disappointment roughened Blair’s voice. “Jim, we know about My Lai. Didn’t you hear the news when you got back?”

“No. Not that one.” Jim shook his head. “My Lai happened not long before I was taken prisoner; I didn’t even know about it until I got back to the States. This one happened before I arrived in ‘Nam. And I’m pretty sure all of these guys were in units that were supposed to be involved. But like I said, it was all rumour.”

“And the Army isn’t going to help.” Blair said bitterly. “They'll do their damnedest to cover it up, just like they tried to do with My Lai.”

Banks sighed heavily. “So where does that leave us?”

***

Jim insisted on going to the shelter the following day over Banks objections. Privately, Blair felt the same way, but he was hardly in a position to say so. Jim hadn’t wanted _him_ to go back either.

Greg was waiting for them when they arrived together. He was beaming with pleasure as he led them into the dining room. It was busy, lunch being in full swing, so the noise level was high. Gradually, the room fell silent as people noticed Jim standing in the doorway.

“People, I’m very happy to tell you that the police have found evidence that completely exonerates our friend Jim, here.” Greg’s voice was pitched to carry across the whole room. “I’m sure you’re all as relieved as I am by this news and will welcome Jim back into our community.”

There were some smiling faces, and a few guys called out a greeting. From the far side of the room someone called out: “What evidence?”

“That I can’t tell you, I’m afraid.” Greg’s smile didn't falter. He’d probably expected some kind of challenge. “Detective Wilczynski told me the information was classified. However he did assure me that Jim is definitely no longer a suspect and there was no reason for him to be excluded from the shelter.”

Again, there were a few whistles and cheers, but most of the men simply turned back to their meals. Greg heaved a sigh and patted Jim on the shoulder. “Well, that’s about the best we could hope for. Let’s eat.”

***

It was two days before Blair got his idea. Two days of waiting on tenterhooks, terrified that the killer would strike again. Jim had reluctantly told Banks who he suspected the killer was, but still stubbornly refused to tell Blair.

“Do you honestly think you’d be able to face him, knowing what he’d done, and not give it away?” Jim had glared at Blair as they’d had the same argument for the third time that day. “Not a chance, Sandburg. I’m not putting you in danger.”

Blair had sighed, his shoulders slumping. “At least tell me it’s not Greg. Please.”

“Of course it’s not Greg.” Jim’s lips had quirked. “Did you seriously think it was?”

“No. Not really.” Blair had pouted, relieved all the same. “But it’s hard to believe _any_ of the guys… and you’ve told Banks.”

Jim had simply looked enigmatic and refused the bait. “Banks is going to have him surveilled, as much as he can, anyway. That’s the only reason I told him.”

Now Blair was feeling just a little bit smug. He’d arranged a meeting with Jim and Banks at their usual café. Deliberately, he arrived late and found the two of them already there, as he’d hoped.

Jim frowned at him as he slipped into his seat. Banks frowned too, with impatience. “So what’s this all about, Sandburg? I don’t have time to waste on-”

“I know how we can catch the killer.” Blair grinned at Jim and Banks’ similar expressions of disbelief. “It’s obvious, really. I can’t think why it took so long to figure out.”

“All right, spit it out.” Banks seemed decidedly unimpressed. “How are we going to catch this guy?”

“It’s simple. We need to provide him with his next victim.” Blair’s grin faded in the face of the two men’s lack of reaction. Banks looked pissed; which seemed to be his default expression anyway, and Jim simply raised an impassive eyebrow and tilted his head. “We know what his victims have in common. So Jim lets slip something about ‘Nam that ties him into the massacre and hey presto, he’s the next in the queue.”

“Absolutely not.” Banks’ explosion drew attention from the surrounding tables. He lowered his voice to a furious undertone. “Use a civilian to trap a serial killer? Do the words ‘no way in hell’ mean anything to you? Besides, we don’t even know if that is the common factor. It’s just a theory.”

“It’s the only theory we’ve got.” Jim said quietly. “And now we know that the first victim was in Seattle, there’s always the risk he’ll move on. If he does, we’ll never catch him.”

“It’s too dangerous.” Banks insisted. “You’re a civilian.”

Blair looked at Jim expectantly.

“With all due respect, Detective, if I decide to let certain information slip, then there’s really nothing you can do about it.” Jim’s voice was polite, but final.

***

Someone had stuffed his mouth with cotton wool, Blair thought, cotton wool that tasted like pond scum. And his head was pounding. He groaned softly, squirming to get more comfortable.

His hands were tied behind his back. His ankles were tied together too. He could smell something, sweet, spicy, musky. Some kind of incense. No way of telling where he was, it was too dark to see anything at all.

_Fuck!_

He wasn’t at home in bed.

 _Ohshitohshitohshit_ …

He panicked then, twisting and struggling, trying to get free with no success. He yelled, his voice thick and hoarse, screaming for help. _Jim. Jim would hear him, surely._

Or maybe not. Even Jim had limits to his senses. Strangely, the thought calmed him a little. Nobody was going to come to the rescue, at least not anytime soon. It was up to him to get himself out of this.

 _Think_.

He’d left the shelter fairly early, but it had already been growing dark. Jim was supposed to leave after him, hoping to draw the killer out. Three days, they’d been waiting, and nothing so far to show for it. He knew exactly which route Jim had taken – they’d arranged it all with Banks. Blair’s own route had been to circle round and meet up with Banks.

He couldn’t remember anything after that.

Okay, first step was to get free. Blair bit down on his lip, using the small pain to cut through the fogginess of his brain. The killer had used some kind of drug. Ether maybe?

_Don’t’ think about that. Don’t think about the killer._

If he could only get the use of his hands… his arms were pulled back pretty tight, could he get them to the front? He’s seen it done, but he was no contortionist. Blair sighed sharply and forced himself to relax, taking slow, deep breaths, loosening his muscles, and tried to ease his joined wrists down over his ass. He managed it, but then got stuck with his hands under his thighs.

Wriggling didn’t help, and he couldn’t manage to sit up, which would have been nice, but by then he’d realised that the binding was duct tape. Maybe he could stretch it a bit, loosen things up.

How long he spent twisting and tugging, Blair had no idea. It was working, but so slowly that he could have screamed with frustration. Finally, it seemed like he might have a chance. He hunched forward, bending his body almost double, and managed to pull his legs through the loop of his arms.

Now to get his ankles free and get the hell out of there. Blair felt carefully around, trying to locate the end of the tape with fingers that were almost numb. There was a lot of tape. Blair managed to pull the last of it free and toss it aside. Next, the tape on his wrists; but first, find a way out. He tried to get to his feet, but his legs were too wobbly. He barely made it half way before falling to his knees. He would have pitched forward flat on his face if he hadn’t managed to use his forearms to hold himself up. He rolled onto his side with a groan and lifted his hands to his face, again searching for the end of the tape. Escape would have to wait a bit longer.

Trying to unwrap duct tape with your teeth was time consuming and frustrating as hell. Behind those thoughts, a fine thread of panic lent urgency. How long was the killer going to leave him here?

Not long enough, was the answer. There was a rattling noise – the sound of a key turning in a lock – from Blair’s left. He turned his head, squinting in the dark, but couldn’t see anything until a door swung open with a faint squeal of hinges. It was almost as dark outside; all Blair could see was the vague outline of a man in the doorway.

***

Blair could see his prison now, thanks to the glow from a flashlight. There wasn’t much to see – just a table with what looked like some kind of altar on it. The smell of incense was strong now, as a thin, wavering trickle of smoke rose from a couple of incense sticks stuck in a can. On the wall behind the altar hung a pair of dog tags. Ray’s dog tags, Blair assumed.

Ray Guzman’s murderer finished buttoning his uniform shirt and tucked it into his pants. He picked up the knife he’d brought with him and carefully slid it into the sheath on his belt. The civilian clothes he’d arrived in were folded neatly on the table. He perched one hip on the table’s edge and smiled sombrely at Blair.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Blair said. “Almost anyone else… I mean, I even wondered if Greg… but not _you_.”

“There was no other choice.” Cap smiled sadly at Blair. “I didn’t _want_ to do it. I didn’t want to do _any_ of this,” his hand swept around, indicating the small room, “but you and Jim kind of forced my hand. It was obvious he’d guessed it was me. If I’d known that he hadn’t told you, I might have been able to leave you out of it, but I assumed you knew. I’m really sorry about that, Blair.”

“Not sorry enough to let me go.” He didn’t try to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m afraid I do.” Cap’s voice was firm, not the slightest hint of doubt.

“Why? We _know_ why you’re doing this. The guys you’ve killed – they were all at Go Dai. There was a massacre there, just like at My Lai. If you give yourself up now, it’ll all come out. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that simple, Blair.” Cap shook his head. “You’ve seen what happened with Calley and the others. This is the only way I can get justice for the people they murdered.”

“This isn’t justice! It’s murder. It’s no better than what they did.” Blair saw Cap flinch. “Oh...” He knew, suddenly, why Cap was doing this. “You were there.”

Cap nodded. “I tried to stop it, but nobody was listening. It was like a frenzy.” There were tears in his eyes and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “And when I told my captain, later, he ordered me not to say anything.”

“You could tell the Press, they’d listen.” It was a desperate argument, Blair knew. The Press hadn’t been able to do anything about the My Lai massacre.

A bitter laugh confirmed Blair’s assessment. “I knew, when the President released Calley to house arrest, that nobody cared. Frankie… Frankie laughed and said he’d be free by Christmas. He thought it was okay, what they did.”

“Frederick Wentz? Is that why you killed him?” He’d killed Wentz just a few days after Nixon’s announcement. Why hadn’t they realised that? It didn’t really matter now, he supposed, but if they’d known earlier, maybe some of Cap’s victims would still be alive.

“I shouldn’t have done that, out of anger.” Cap frowned. “I took his dog tags so he wouldn’t be identified. It wasn’t until later that I got the idea.”

“To find the others?” Keep him talking, Blair thought. If Banks was watching, or Jim had followed him, like they planned, then all he had to do was keep Cap talking.

“Yes. I thought, at first, that if one of them agreed to talk, to tell people what had happened… but none of them would, not even Ray.”

“You know that Jim wasn’t at Go Dai. He was still in the States at the time. And I haven’t even been to ‘Nam.”

“But you’re trying to stop me, and I can’t let you do that.” Cap smiled regretfully. “So you both have to die. I’m sorry, Blair.” He stood, one hand on the knife hilt at his waist.

“Cap… Steve, you know this is wrong. What gives you the right to-”

“Don’t you know, Blair?” Cap smiled, “I’m the one who must decide who’s to live and who’s to die.”

For a moment, Blair was back in San Francisco on a warm June night, with Jim, arguing furiously over that song. God, they’d both been so young… He was so caught up in that memory, that he missed the moment when Cap made his move.

***

At least there was some light in this alleyway. Blair blinked a little when Cap removed the hood. It was a relief to be able to see again after five – ten? – minutes or so of walking blindfolded with only his murderer’s guidance. Of necessity, his ankles were free; but Cap had taped his mouth, and he never had managed to get his hands loose. He made an indignant sound beneath the duct tape and a cold line pressed against his throat. Blair kept very still, aware of the pulse leaping in his neck just behind where the blade rested.

“He’ll be here soon. Just be patient.” Cap’s voice whispered in his ear.

How much would Jim be able to make out, Blair wondered. There was light enough, he’d guess, but would Jim be able to hear them? Smell the incense, which clung to Cap’s uniform? It was strong enough even for Blair to smell it, although he hadn’t noticed it on Cap’s regular clothes. He could smell blood too, but then killing with a knife was a messy business.

If only he could call out, warn Jim that he was expected. He scuffed his foot against the loose stones on the pavement, waited, and then did it again. Jim might hear it, though it was barely audible even to him.

The arm across his chest loosened and Blair stumbled. His legs were still none too steady. Cap took a grip on the back of his shirt and lowered the knife to chest height. “Keep still. I promise I’ll make it as quick and painless as possible.”

“Steve. Let him go; he’s a civilian.” Jim’s voice drifted out of nowhere, startling both of them. “The Police will be here in a minute. You need to surrender.”

“I don’t believe you, Jim.” Cap’s voice was steady. “Why don’t you come here? We should talk.”

“Let him go, and I’ll come out.” Blair still couldn’t tell where Jim was located. His voice echoed confusingly off the brick walls.

“I think you don’t really grasp the concept of a hostage, Jim.” Blair felt the prick of the knifepoint against his ribs. “Come out, or I’ll cut him.”

“All right.” Jim’s voice was clearer, and behind them. "Here I am.”

How in hell he’d got behind them, Blair had no idea, but he reacted quickly, stomping on Cap’s foot and elbowing his arm aside as he threw himself desperately in the direction of Jim’s voice.

At first he thought nobody was there, then Jim’s body came sailing past him, from above, to land between Blair and Cap. He saw Jim catch hold of Cap’s arm, twisting to keep the knife from plunging sideways into his ribs. Blair’s knees gave out and he fell, and only then could he see the narrow window ledge where Jim must have perched, and the drainpipe he’d climbed down from the roof.

Hastily, he pushed himself up to his knees, and then unsteadily to his feet. The two men were locked together, grunting with effort. Light glinted on the blade that they each fought to control. The point was dark and gleaming with blood.

Blair reached up and pulled the tape off his mouth, taking a deep breath to yell for help. It wasn’t necessary. Suddenly the alley seemed to be full of bodies – though later Blair discovered that there had only been three cops – and in a moment Cap and Jim had been pulled apart and one of the cops was handcuffing Cap.

Jim turned, breathing hard, and walked towards Blair with a grin, which quickly faded. “Jesus, Blair…”

“What?” He followed Jim’s eyes down to his waist where a dark wet patch was spreading rapidly. “Oh. Oh, fuck.” His knees wobbled and he went down, not for the first time that night.

***

It turned out to be no worse than a deep scratch across his lower ribs, easily dealt with by the paramedics. That didn’t stop Jim from hanging around like an over anxious mother hen. Or Banks from muttering furiously about civilians getting involved in Police business. Blair ignored them both, feeling a little light headed both from the shock and the remaining after effects of the ether.

“There you go.” The paramedic patted Blair genially on the shoulder as he finished taping a small dressing over a couple of stitches. “Get your doctor to prescribe some antibiotics, just in case, and keep it clean. You’ll be fine.”

“See, Jim? I’ll be fine.” Blair smiled up at him. Jim scowled almost as furiously as Banks. Blair stood up and immediately wobbled dangerously.

Jim’s arm came around his shoulder, holding him against his side. It was a bit like leaning into a cliff face. “I’ll take you home.”

Home… sounded good, but then Blair remembered that home meant bed, and bed and Jim together was a complication just waiting to happen. “Uh… I’ll be fine. Thanks all the same.”

Jim didn’t argue, just released his grip for a moment and then caught him again as his knees buckled. “Ya think?”

“Okay, okay… home. But… no, uh…” he looked around at the cops, more of them now, taping off the scene. All of them within earshot. “Uh, you know…”

“You want me to pinkie swear, Sandburg?”

 “Ellison, what are the two of you still doing here?” Banks came over from where he’d been talking to a small group of journalists. “I’ll get a squad car to take you home. You can make your witness statements tomorrow morning, down at the station. Ten o’clock.”

“Great.” Blair smiled widely. “Then they can take you home after, Jim.”

“I’m staying with you.” Jim looked over at Banks. Can you get someone to call my father? Blair doesn’t have a phone.”

Banks heaved a put upon sigh, but nodded and waved them off imperiously. Seemed like there was nothing else to do but go home. Blair got into the back of the car with a sinking heart.

*** 

Blair stared at his alarm clock. Its hands, faintly luminescent, pointed to ten minutes after one. Last time he’d looked – an hour ago, it seemed – the time had been five after one. Behind him, Jim was lying completely still. Probably too exhausted to lie awake half the night.

It had obviously been a big mistake to let Jim sleep in his bed, but what else could he have done? Jim was way too tall to sleep on the couch; even Blair couldn’t sleep on it with any degree of comfort. Not that it was any better in the bed. Every little twitch of Jim’s body brought him out of an uneasy doze, wide awake and tense with a mingling of arousal and nerves.

Twenty after one. It felt like another hour had passed. Blair sighed. If he wanted any sleep at all, it would have to be on the couch. He sat up, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. There were a couple of extra blankets somewhere…

“Blair?”

“It’s okay. I’m gonna sleep on the couch.” Blair forced a quiet chuckle. “I’m just not used to sleeping in company anymore.”

A quiet rustle warned him Jim was moving. The mattress dipped as he sat up, a gentle hand touched Blair’s hip. “Don’t. I’ll-”

“You won’t fit, believe me.” He stretched, trying to loosen tense muscles, and winced as the stitches pulled. Damn it!

He felt the warmth of another body close behind him as Jim’s hand slid across his waist. Heat brushed his ear as Jim said quietly: “Don’t go. Blair…”

Oh god, this was bad. He couldn’t do this, not now. Even though his cock swelled against the soft cotton of his sweatpants. “Jim, please. I told you…” His voice trailed off as Jim’s lips pressed delicately against the skin below his ear and he moaned softly. “I told you… oh…”

“It’ll be all right. I promise, Blair.” His voice was little more than a whisper; his hand slid under the hem of Blair’s t-shirt and touched bare skin.

“I can’t. Jim, I can’t do this…” His voice lacked any conviction and he made not the slightest attempt to move away when Jim began to suck his earlobe. “This is a bad id-” He gasped as Jim’s fingers swept up across his ribs and brushed against his nipple. “…a bad idea…”

This was nothing like the last two times. Whatever demons had driven Jim, then – driven both of them, in all honesty – they were nowhere to be found tonight. With a last, unconvincing muttered protest, Blair leant back against him, surrendering wholly to the magic of his touch. He felt the soft press of lips against his throat, heard the hush of quickened breathing as Jim pressed closer, his arm across Blair’s chest tightening to hold him near. His fingers teased Blair’s nipple, sending trickles of heat to pool in his groin.

Time passed, an eternity, while Jim did no more than kiss his neck and burrow his face into Blair’s shoulder while slowly exploring his chest. Blair could have easily moved away, if he could have moved at all. His cock was aching, his body singing with the remembrance of Jim touching him like this, back in the days when even ‘Nam was no more than a distant shadow on the future.

Why shouldn’t he, even if only for one night, have that again?

Jim shifted his weight, releasing his other hand to lay it against Blair’s hip. Slowly, determinedly, he brushed his fingertips across Blair’s belly and under the loose waistband of Blair’s sweatpants.

“Is this okay?” Jim’s breath washed over his skin, hot, moist. “Blair?”

“Oh, god, yes…” He tried to arch his hips up, hampered by his awkward position. “Please…”

Fingertips ruffled the happy trail down to his groin, brushed over the heat of his cock. Blair groaned helplessly, his hips jerking. He spread his legs wider and Jim took the hint, cupping his hand over Blair’s balls. Jim’s breath was coming faster, louder. They were both trembling.

“Jim, please…” He couldn’t say what he wanted, didn’t even know. He arched his back, rubbing himself against Jim’s chest, and turned his head, blindly seeking.

They managed a kiss, awkward as it was, and Jim moaned softly. His fingers curled around Blair’s cock, slowly stroking from root to tip, rubbed his thumb lightly over the crown. A shudder ran though Blair’s body and hunger replaced sensuality.

Jim must have sensed the difference. He pulled away a little and released Blair entirely, but only to pull the t-shirt up over his chest. Blair raised his arms, repressing a twinge of pain from his wound, and Jim tossed the t-shirt aside.

The chill air made Blair’s nipples almost painfully sensitive and he yelped as Jim tweaked one tip. “Fuck, Jim… I’ll blow if you do that again.”

“Really?” Jim turned him around, pushing him back onto the mattress. “Because I can help with that.” His teeth flashed in the darkness as he grinned.

The thought of Jim’s mouth on him sent another shudder through Blair. He might even have greyed out a little, because next thing he knew, Jim was pulling his sweatpants down to his thighs. His head hovered for a moment over Blair’s groin, then his teeth flashed again and the soft wet swipe of a tongue flowed the length of Blair’s cock.

His thighs were trapped beneath Jim’s body, and he could only manage a slight rock of his hips. It enough, barely, as Jim sucked the tip of Blair’s cock between his lips. He lingered there a while, until Blair was squirming with frustration and need, then took the length of Blair’s cock into his mouth.

Blair cupped his hands around Jim’s head, holding him there while he tried to thrust into the wet heat. His heart was thundering in his chest; he wanted to come so badly he thought he might just pass out. “Jim… Jim, I need… I want…”

“Shh… easy…” Soft kisses scattered over his belly sending shivers through him. Gentle hands caressed and soothed, then teased him to greater arousal. Gradually, Blair realised that Jim was whispering against his skin, disjointed words in a voice rough with passion.

He caught hold of Jim’s shoulders. “Jim? _What_ did you say?”

Jim’s lips descended on his, tasting of pre come. He explored Blair’s mouth with a gentle thoroughness that left Blair breathless. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck… you want…” Heat flared through Blair’s entire body. _Oh, fuck yes!_ “Jim…” He pulled Jim’s head down again, whispering against his cheek. “Yes… oh god, yes…” His breath caught on a sob and he managed to turn it into a laugh. “You’ve got way too many clothes on, Jim.”

Removing Jim’s t-shirt and shorts gave them an excuse to tussle playfully, to turn their painfully intense emotions into laughter, but when Blair reached for the lube in the nightstand drawer, the mood grew serious again. He bit his lip, nervously. “Jim, have you ever…”

A shake of Jim’s head made his gut twist with nervous anticipation. “It’s okay. I’ll take it slow.” He kissed Jim slowly, deeply. “Remember that night? It’s easier than you’d expect.”

“I remember.” There was something in Jim’s voice that made Blair’s muscles go weak. “I’m fine, Blair. I’ve been wanting this since…” he broke off with a gasp as Blair’s lube slick finger circled his hole.

“Like that, Jim?” Blair grinned at the convulsive shiver that ran through Jim’s body. He continued the movement, gradually pressing harder until finally the tip of his finger slid inside.

“God… Blair…” Jim moved, pushing hesitantly against his finger. His cock was still hard and eager against Blair’s.

Blair slid his knee between Jim’s thighs, and his finger slipped a little deeper, searching for Jim’s prostate. There was no mistaking the moment he found it. Jim’s body jerked in his arm, his hole clenching around Blair’s finger.

“Christ!” Jim wriggled urgently. “Do that again.”

“Soon,” Blair soothed. He slipped another finger in, and Jim barely seemed to notice. Sweat slicked their bodies together and Jim rocked against him, his face dazed. God, he was so beautiful like this, his face losing all its hard lines until he almost looked like that boy Blair had known in San Francisco. “Do you want to go on top, like I did?”

“Yeah…” Jim breathed softly, his lips so close to Blair’s they might as well have been kissing. “I’d like that.”

“Okay.” He removed his fingers so Jim could straddle his hips, and when he put them back, the third went in without any difficulty at all.

Jim groaned deep in his throat, rocking against Blair’s fingers and as he did, Blair wrapped his other hand around Jim’s cock. Jim’s head tipped back as his body arched, trying to fuck Blair’s hand and himself on Blair’s fingers simultaneously. “Oh, _fuck_ … Blair. Please, I want… want you in me.”

The words sent a jolt through Blair’s cock; so intense he could almost have come. When he spoke his voice was so thick he barely recognised it. “Lube me up.”

 _Not long now. Soon, soon._ The silent mantra helped Blair to focus on not coming. _Oh, god… soon, please…_ And then, miraculously, Jim was sliding down onto his cock, taking him in to that incredible, tight heat.

There was no hope of either of them lasting very long. Jim’s cock wilted slightly as he sank down, but recovered almost immediately. Blair concentrated on keeping still and letting Jim set the pace. Once it seemed like he’d got there, Blair pushed up on his elbow and Jim leaned forward so they could kiss. Almost, Blair could smell the incense; feel the heat of a San Francisco summer’s night.

He felt the tremors start in his own body, spread to Jim’s. _Soon…_

Jim’s mouth left his, reluctantly, returning to suck his bottom lip with just a hint of teeth. Blair groaned, feeling it all the way down to his cock. Jim sighed, resting his forehead against Blair’s temple. “Blair… _god_ , I love you…”

And _soon_ became _now_.

***

Blair stretched luxuriously, basking in the heat of Jim’s body, almost curled around him. Jim’s arms tightened momentarily, then relaxed, and Blair took advantage of that to turn to face him. He looked, Blair thought, sleepily contented, more relaxed than Blair had ever seen him.

“Hey.” Blair tilted his face up invitingly, and was thoroughly kissed.

It could have led to more. It _should_ have led to more, dammit, but far too soon for Blair’s liking, Jim pulled back. “We won’t make our meeting with Simon.”

“Fuck Simon,” Blair muttered. His hand moved suggestively over Jim’s hip.

Jim grinned, capturing Blair’s hand. “You’re not fucking anyone but me, and don’t you forget it.”

The prospect of fucking Jim was almost enough to reconcile Blair to getting out of bed. Almost. “If we share the shower, it’ll be quicker.” He smiled hopefully.

In spite of sharing the shower, they made it to the stationhouse on time.

Banks was unusually mellow. “He’s admitted everything. Partly because he wants everyone to know _why_ he did it, but I think he genuinely wants to get it off his chest.”

“What do you think will happen to him?” In spite of everything that had happened, Blair realised he felt sorry for Steve. “Could he plead insanity?”

“He _could_.” Banks shrugged, “I doubt it would work.”

“He won’t.” Jim’s voice was definite. “He’ll want people to know why he killed those men. An insanity plea would destroy his credibility. He’d rather be executed than throw away the only justification for what he did.”Banks nodded thoughtfully. “Well, it’s not up to us, anyway.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll send in another detective to take your statements. I have a meeting with my captain about the case. It’s going to get messy, politically. I hope I can count on the two of you not to go talking to the Press.”

Jim raised his hands pacifyingly. “The last thing I want is them sniffing around.”

“Good.” Banks hesitated at the door, turning back to look at them. “Ellison, if you ever… well, if you thought about becoming a cop… I’d be willing to sponsor your application to the Academy.”

“Thanks.” To Blair’s relief, Jim didn’t sound at all enthused. “I’m not looking for a job as a glorified bloodhound.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Banks scowled. “I’m offering because I think you can handle yourself well in a tight situation, and you’ve got good instincts. I think you’d make a good cop, okay?”

Jim nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

“Uh, Jim…” Blair’s mind boggled at the thought of introducing his cop boyfriend to his Pig hating mother. But he couldn’t exactly say that, especially in front of Banks. “Do you really think that’s a good idea. Because… you know…” He caught Banks’ impatient glare and fell silent. There wasn’t much more he _could_ say without outing them both.

Banks sighed sharply. “And your private life, believe me, should stay private. _Please_.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.” Jim grinned faintly.

***

**Six months later**

“Well? What do you think?”

Blair looked around the large space – not as big as his warehouse, but big enough. Brick walls, French doors opening onto a little balcony looking out towards the harbour, and the loft bedroom over a small storage room. Or second bedroom, maybe.  He could see why Jim liked it so much. “Yeah. I think it’s great. You should buy it.”

Jim smiled, nodded. “Now that my Army back pay's come through, it’s enough to cover the deposit.” He glanced at the open front door, but the agent had retired discreetly into the hallway outside. “I might need a roommate to help with the payments.”

Oh, really? Blair grinned. “A roommate, huh? You’ll need to find someone who won’t mind if I stay over occasionally.”

“I don’t think that would be too hard to arrange.” Jim looked down at him, smiling. “Think you’d like it here?”

He slid his arms around Jim’s waist and pulled him closer. “It’s perfect. Especially if I get to sleep upstairs.”

Jim pretended to consider that. “Well… okay, I guess, if you don’t mind sharing.”

Blair just grinned broadly. “And having a second bedroom gives us plausible deniability when your Dad visits. And somewhere for Naomi to stay.”

“I told Dad. About us. And Stevie too.”

Blair sobered fast. “How’d they take it?”

“Not all that well.” That telltale muscle twitched in Jim’s jaw. “Dad didn’t seem all that surprised, though. Stevie was pretty shocked. But neither of them want to make a big deal out of it.”

“Well, I think it’s great that you told them.” He rose up on the balls of his feet to kiss Jim lingeringly. Wow, their first kiss in their very own home. Who would have thought he’d be such a bourgeois at heart?

When they broke apart, Jim smiled and brushed his thumb lightly down Blair’s cheek to his jaw. “I can’t be out at the station, though. Not till I know it’s safe.”

“Sure.” Blair totally understood. He was cool with Banks knowing, but anybody else? No. Blair had heard enough stories, from harassment to outright attacks, as well as backup that failed to arrive. No way he wanted Jim in that kind of danger. “I wouldn’t want you to. Being a cop is dangerous enough. I lost you once; I can’t do that again.”

“Blair, it’ll be fine.” Jim kissed him again. “Damn, if that agent wasn’t outside… do you know what I’d do right now?”

Of course he knew. Blair brightened at the prospect, however unlikely it was to happen right now, of an impromptu blowjob. “Well, hurry up and sign the papers, and that’s the first thing we’ll do to celebrate.”

He grinned as Jim hustled him towards the door.

 


End file.
